Fooling Too Many
by and published in Edition Four of Pomegranate
He knows magic is just illusion, that mirrors and misdirection
cover up the vanished, but still he carries a wand
as he goes about his day; at work, the canteen, the tube,
because he really needs it to go away, that cloud,
the one which follows everywhere threatening to drop.
The wand alone won’t work. He needs an assistant,
someone to misdirect his own eyes so one day
when he waves the wand and looks up
he’ll convince himself his eyes are fine
when his burden can’t be seen. But others can’t spot it
and when he begs their help think he’s merely playing tricks.
Till his body tenses at the worry, and the wand
breaks in his hand. And the next day he leaves home
dressed in camouflage, clutching instead a rotten stick.
Carl Griffin
Carl Griffin is 23 and has been writing for eleven years. He has eyes on Bloodaxe but is aware he’s a long way off. He is a massive fan of the poet and novelist Stephen Dobyns and is suspicious of any poem shorter than at least six lines.