Take comfort

Take comfort from this.


You have a book in your hand


not a loaded gun or a parking fine


or an invitation card to the wedding


of the one you should have married

but were too selfish. Always imagining

there would be someone better out there

but there wasn’t, and you missed the boat.

And now you’re pushing forty, what are the chances

of your finding that perfect elusive partner? Highly unlikely.

Like an empty glass on a bar-room counter, loneliness beckons.

Not an empty glass, or a bottle smashed on a bar-room counter

a photograph of the one you will always regret not marrying

not a letter from the hospital, the results devastating.

After the disaster, the dust and the screaming

a child’s arm thrust out from the rubble.

You have none of these in your hand.

A dirty syringe or a deadly scorpion


A Molotov cocktail or an overdose


not a loaded gun or a parking fine


you have a book in your hand.

Take comfort from this.

Roger McGough