Feckless Poem by noel maddock

In town, walking self consciously
Because you have no pockets for your hands
Wondering if your stomach shows too much
Practicing opening phrases so discreetly
More or less all at sea, tacking down Grafton Street

In the shop, both hiding and looking half heartedly
So pathetically conscious of the time
You happen on True Life Love Stories by Michael Foley
Fingering furtively through it, you think
‘Yea, this is just what I wanted’—maybe
At the counter you take out two crumpled notes
And blush for the young girl who waits
Holding book in bag, while you straighten them

Outside, more assured with the book at your side
With poems as ballast, you don’t walk but stride
Now you have the pulse rhythm
You could shout, ’ Hey! Hello! ’ across a crowded street
Maybe even haggle over a price tag
O god!

This pose of a balancing act
The diluted eyes, feckless command
The already withering bouquet in your hand