Poem By James Mills
If I lived alone;
what of nightime -
the crinkling black
attacks of loneliness that
might creep upon me
feeding off what sleep might come?
I could succumb to daylight naps,
save night for stars and grunting
badgers snuffling through dank leaves,
or read those better books I promised
my sleepier self I would.
I’d say to myself that solitary
Who's to care what time I keep
or if I speak aloud when a thought occurs?
I’d wear myself out thinking.
Callers would commend my inscrutable
while they drank my coffee,
then say “He’s lost the plot”
when they talk about me - and they would!
I’d buy my clothes from catalogues,
dark coloured corduroy and
paisley jumpers, wear cravats,
keep a cat and call it Francis.
What’s the chances
if I joined a lonely hearts club
I’d find a lady – gsoh,
likes staying up late.
But wait- I’m not alone and
I think I only dream when I sleep.