You tell me that you're zen
and all we have to do is wait
for the body of our enemy
to wash by on the river.
You tell me that everything happens,
and is happening, for a reason.
You don't know what 'teleological' means,
but when I explain you nod and say 'yeah, cool.'
I sit by the river, where I can see stones
amid the low-tide trickle. I wait.
A shopping trolley rusts.
I turn and walk away, passing, on the bridge,
a man in chinos and an All-Blacks shirt
carrying a cardboard Michael Gove.
* * *
Face-to-face (well, almost) with Cardboard Gove! I wasn't going to return to him yet, but suddenly the last verse of this one seemed like the perfect place to put him. But what happens now? Does Cardboard Gove get chucked in the river? Who knows?