Just one thing

Anthony Wilson

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It all started with two remarks, one by a friend, the other by a stranger at work.

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The friend’s first. I’d been whingeing, as I do, about the tiniest possibility that I appeared not to have achieved the level of world domination that my boundless talent merited.

My friend looked at me. She said, ‘So if I Googled you looking for your books and your poems, how would I find them?’

‘You do know about them,’ I said.

‘But people don’t. Where will they look?’

‘But people should already know about them,’ I said.

‘But let’s say they didn’t. Where would they look?’

I could feel sweat starting to form on my top lip.

‘Well, there’s that Poetry Society page…somewhere, I think, in the education bit, actually I’m not sure where it is, anyway, the Poetry Society, there, that’s one page, er, and the Poetry Archive has something…I think…’

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