Must Poem by Richard Blanch

or Denial


He felt he could not turn back. The straight street
Bled him of will like a knife. And the heat-
Heat without leaves in it. Move he could not-
Not once he had seen Her, and She him. Meet
They must. Convention set itself to squat
On his life. He heard her fashionable feet
Pick out a dry tattoo of love, crisp and neat
Clipping the tarmac. A hard sound, that beat
Of tiny heels. How the windows shone. Hot
Glass reflected his Duty many times, discreet
And trim in Her approach. Stifling Fear like a blot
On the daylight fell on him. Now Her sweet
Smile lit more warm suns. Where could he go? Effete
And indecisive he felt life become a dot
At the end of a phrase. A false full stop
Which should not be at all. So he smiled. What
Else, when Her hand held his and Her lips got
A grip on his cheek? He knew that his lot
Was cast. He could not leave Her; must greet
Fate, normality necessity, must eat
The food the Gods had ready; must let pass
What his heart wished- (not this harsh road- cool grass,
Mud, moist valleys furrowing different hills) . The farce
Must be played out. It was, be clear, a. task
That he himself had set. Fingers stretched, he grasped
Her arm, his future. Her care held him fast.
He gasped. Felt comfort in confinement. Choice and past
Both closed. He fell into step. The world, before too vast
To cope with, narrowed. He had found a path at last.