Fed rather masterfully tonight
A ridiculously sprightly poet laureate who appears to be forty-five on stage and seventy-six again, albeit a handsome man, atop his celebratory pint of Guinness
A little later on
To rid all of those momentary cobwebs
People – I included – swarming, nitpicking at his utterly travailed head for some kind inspiration
All I ever really wanted was a minute to drop my business card upon his jovial lap
Then tomorrow he raises a monacle to an aged eye, perhaps
Pry on into one such fellow wannabe’s life, if you like
If only for a while
‘Course I dream big, we all damn do
Of a wrinkled smile which might just add to his very next story
“Never pour on over him…
Place your details oh so subtly to one side – eavesdropping carefully.”
Then I stare over a shoulder, getting to lend myself a smile all of my own
Soon as I catch Roger McGough place it inside of his linen breast pocket