Thomas
I’d not collude with anyone’s delusions.
I always called a spade its proper name
and could grasp its purpose well enough
when something needed burying.
Wasn’t I the first who pointed out
that we might die with him? And in broad daylight
that was, well ahead of Simon waxing
dramatic at the dinner table.
He’s dead, I said, so don’t diminish him
by making myths of what you want to hope
about a man who always told the truths
he saw, however hard they were.
Someone had to dig them from the rubble.
I thought I’d get the leverage I needed
by pressing on a certain point of substance:
and, yes, I do remember how it felt.
Page(s) 38
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