The Hermit Comes to Town

i made a sandwich in the small kitchenette,

manoeuvred around the coffee table,

mumbling as though in training for something,

i don’t know what.

i sat down on the end of the bed

and picked up a thin book of poetry

from the black-bedside-table,

The Hermit Comes to Town, by Jeremy Bellamy,

the colour of the cover was brilliant red,

and on the back was a black and white photograph

of his face next to a blurb, that explained how he’d

once lived in south London,

and had had a history of mental health complaints,

and i opened up the book and flicked through,

i hadn’t read it before,

having just bought it from Oxfam in town,

and i turned to some random page, biting into

my cheese salad sandwich, somewhat awkwardly,

and my eyes came to rest on the lines “and even though

you eat your sandwich whilst reading these words . . .” 

 

 

and i was astonished,

i never eat whilst reading,

 

 

and i thought

 

 

i certainly hope this dude wasn’t hospitalized

for believing he had “magickal abilities”,

 

 

 

the magick of the poem . . .   certainly worked for me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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