Well Meaning
His words evaporate like fog
in mid morning on leaving his mouth.
I’d love to drop a few
micro hints over a lager or two
with him – quickly avert my gaze,
so as not to assume pontiff.
It would be over in a brief episode;
as quick & as painless
as a flick of the scalpel.
I’d pass him a slim volume
under the table, like in some
BBC espionage & intrigue drama.
Alec Guinness would chime in
with a few pointers to boot;
revive his signature role,
while smirking down the barrel
with a smug glint behind thick rims.
We would both hone in for the kill.
Share our little joke with secret
hand signals – at some point
we’d read him the riot act;
rearrange things as they are
to make them seem more real.
But I have to wonder, if he
would even notice the difference.
©Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 