Undercover

In today’s drama
you are the undercover poet
taking your Mother
out for coffee.
I serve you,
and although
I was in a poetry workshop you taught,
I don’t use the secret code,
so you move to your table
unawares.
I have seen you at seminars,
you seem to be constantly speaking
of faith
and/or your lack of it.

That’ll be $11 thanks.
You pass me a ten,
and say, as your hands fumble in your pockets;
I’m just looking for the one.




(for Bill Manhire)

From the zine The Lunchtime Runner volume 3