Lost poem

Anthony Wilson


I had begun the poem after work one day, on a pad of work-related notes. Get in, get out, I thought, before they come to get you, before you are found out. Not much of a poem, and not much of a start, but a start nevertheless. I almost never remember anything about writing poems. This one was slightly different, in that I knew I was saying something I ‘shouldn’t’, which other people might not like. For its tone. Maybe its content. It was not (is not) a nice poem. Which is why I knew I needed to begin writing it, to see where that not-niceness might take me. I did and did not like writing it. And then life and work intervened and I forgot all about the poem until the other day when the content -that’s not the right word- I mean the tone of the poem entered…

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