It’s been a long day, OK?
It can’t be said I didn’t try.
It can’t be that I didn’t try.
It could be that I didn’t try.
It could be that I wouldn’t try.
Could it be that I am trying?
That could be what Sally meant.
That could be what Sandro meant.
That could be, all passion spent,
the joy of local government.
It could be that now I’m dying,
red on red, while an accident
repeats in my punch-drunk head,
something to do with barely trying,
being willing, trying, giving a flying
et cetera – you get the idea –
I’m dying – right? So now I’m here,
and every day’s a hexagon,
a tile in life, life going on
and on and on. It can’t be said
I didn’t try. (My head! My head!)
Michael Caines lives in London, and has had poems published by Allegro Poetry, the New European and Visual Verse.