One Poem by Michael Caines

Written in response to this month’s Special Challenge.

Two curmudgeons

I’ve never liked you much.
Still, I admit we share
some functionality:
a great grey area
of mind. Where we go Dutch.
And thus we can agree

one thing at least: this age
has rocks for brains! We both
contemn its follies with
all of our stoney rage.
(That said, to our collective sense
it’s clear that never once

was folly less, and never
can the world improve;
we see the past and the future
and would rather not see either.)
How to make things better?
You can’t. And we don’t believe

in fairy tales. The old
decade dies, and the new
comes in. St Petersburg
is monochrome, and cold.
I see a rising flag.
You take a longer view.

 

Michael Caines lives in London, and has had recent poems commended in the Battered Moons and Culpepper’s Remedy competitions.

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