Poets, At Times

I wander about
On my own
Because I am an adult poet. It is

Cloudy. The mystic of my life
Has gone. I

Cling to the whimsical
And Astral Weeks. I

Drift through the park
Trying to find…

There’s a teenage couple kissing on a bench in the park after school!!!
They can’t stop!!!
They stop and look around before carrying on again!!!
There is nothing else for them to do!!!
It is such an urgent act for them!!!
Their bodies hardly move!!!
They may not even be moving their lips!!!

It looks mechanical
Like it always was, but it is loud and
Electric and not cloudy and

I want to be like him! No! Not like…
Not like that! But…

I want to be like her! No! Not like…
Not like that! But…

I want to be them
In my school uniform
Trapped on a bench
Absorbed crushed broken chained to the mystic

And whimsical

Without any of this.

(A version of this poem was first published as ‘Grow Up’ in A New Ulster, Issue 116, August 2022 (https://issuu.com/amosgreig/docs/anu116))