Gravy

For Ray, blessed in his diminishing days,
it was gravy – the lingo of his contentment – but
mine is all too real, where working from Carver’s other
joy of what is, it now needs throwing away. My actual
day begins and ends so oppositely, from the happy
expectation and work to make it so with such relish
to then being redundant in a moment’s clarity of truth
and honesty as painful as it turned out to be: also in the
shock of the telling. That too reminds me of Ray
and his warning to keep silent – the will you please be
quiet, please as pure pleading when knowing the
candour of revealing is also the ending of everything.

Carver’s gravy that pains me with the bliss of his ease
and mine left untouched without a word for its verities.

2 thoughts on “Gravy

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