My bestie Sam turned 29 today and as he’s buggered off to Cambridge to do his teacher training I’m unable to celebrate it with him. So, this poem is for my dearest friend “Percy”, who is the platonic love of my life and who I miss terribly.
For Sam on His 29th Birthday
I have chosen my friend better
than I chose myself.
The timbre of his tone tears the temple in two;
a martyr’s mouthpiece –
my scissors are still in the drawer.
He has taken my barbs and the daughters
of the world bow before beauty.
Am I not in their number?
Your adherents admire the chariot and so did I,
for a time. My blasphemy is this – to love you
before proof or affirmation.
He eschews the high and lonely path
for a tuneful retort; a challenge to do better.
Your joke has turned my black hair grey.
My smile is the weathering
of his thousand journeys.
I choose but one, so you may have the rest.