What would it be like,To be a raindrop?And your only job,Was to crash?

When I was eight, I threw a rock at my cat.
I wanted something to love me, and he
didn't. Unfamiliar with rage and unskilled
at throwing rocks, I missed and hit the fence.
I was and am ashamed of this.
I wasn't that kind of kid.

Once, a boy sent me photos from Scotland,
daybreak over  the snowy moors where he
hunted grouse with his father. He was skinny,
and sweet. I stopped writing him because I
had a thousand words for love, and he
couldn't spell any of them.

And once, I took your love for granted. It was vanity;
I felt like the lost works of a prolific master.
I wanted someone to delight in discovering me,
to wonder where I had been. It was easy to
blame you; all those years and you didn't
know what you had.

If you believe in all possible universes,
I aimed for the fence and hit the cat.
I married a sweet, skinny boy who will never
love a poem. I never had anything to prove
and I don't need you to forgive me.

Riley wants to build a robot.
With all the eagerness of
a five year old
who has been told
that she is brilliant, and beautiful, and kind,
she presents me with her shopping list:

METAL
CLEAN WHEELS
ROBOT FOOD

She tells me that the wheels need to be clean
so they don't mess up Mama's floor.
Of course, I say,
and kiss the top of
her brilliant, and beautiful, and kind head,
reflecting for a moment, with my eyes closed
and Riley chattering happily,
on why a child's hopefulness
always makes me
just a little sad.

I had a question burning on my mind
And I thought maybe to pass the time
I could write it down on a sign
And ask the passing souls.

My intentions were pure I wanted to know
I would discover whether from above or below
And with the answer I then would know
The fate of the passing souls.

I took my sign to the busy street
Where there are many hands and many feet
And with my question I did greet
A many a passing souls.

The answers did differ I can tell you that
Some laughed while others answered back
Still some just stared as though words they did lack
Oh the many a passing souls.

I was taken aback by the answers I received
With some I implored and with some I did plead
I cried “listen to me, won’t you please!”
Oh lord save the passing souls.

Not all accounts were bad, some were quite good
I received a hug from a man in a hood
Although by the end I understood
The hearts of the passing souls.

So at the end of the day, I folded my sign
I gathered my things and with tears in my eyes
I turned towards the street and I said good bye
With no love from the passing souls.

Your windowed soul
speaks leagues of numbered
tears as your heart beats beats beats,
and the tint of your eyes
shows the truth of your lies,
every time your half-crooked smile
hides the words that you speak speak speak.

I’m Smith of Stoke aged sixty odd
I’ve lived without a dame all my life
And wish to God
My dad had done the same.