Friday Poem

My Back Pages
I crossed the sea. Half my address book
blew away and never came back.

It’s one way to weed the cabbage patch.
I never did like them all that much.

I stopped sending Christmas cards and letters.
The other half went. I never felt better.

Which left me and the takeaway man,
except when I got down to one

I wasn’t so sure I made the cut
so mine was the page that I ripped out.

I’d decided I liked me less and less
I’d done my throwing out in reverse.

I was the lack that I’d always lacked.
Get rid of me and you’re all welcome back.


by David Wheatley
from Mocker
The Gallery Press, Oldcastle, 2006