11 April

Day 11 

This is one of my least favourite poems


Vitai Lampada

Said the torch bearer:

If I’m passing the torch, I‘m not passing it to

the man who’s one of the boys, the one in the pink,

to whom everything’s a game

And if the torch is to be passed,

let it illuminate the small dark corners

showing the dust, the dirt

And if there’s a torch to be passed

let it  be by those who know about fire,

not the strawman who, just weeks ago

said watching the flames wouldn’t hurt

and that we could even touch them,

if only for a moment, using common sense

And seemed surprised when he burned

his fingers. Let’s agree to leave

this illumination, this passing on

to experts. We need the warmth and

glow, we need the ability to flicker shadows

in all this gathering darkness