My First Poem Poem by Michael Maxwell Steer

An opaque cloud of rancid nicotine
drifted to God
Two rouge cheeks contract
to cull more
I saw her leant against the bar
as I past by
A vacant glass inviting, but empty
as a Cenotaph,
Her crumpled low-neck dress faded
like everything else
The path slopes sharply downward, but
what else to do?
Dying is too hard a way, and
she knows no other.
At last
a weary man cannot escape.
Turning
dull boredom into dull interest
Doesnt work
nor does a whisky, a half smile
surrenders
to the ineluctible cycle of her days.


At Kings School Canterbury 06/1963 ® 27/02/1989