IT DOESN’T MATTER

Why do I always believe

That these things are so important?

Why do I have to keep on

Contributing

To online word games

In which nobody cares

Whether I join in or not…?

Why do I feel that

If I fail to come up with a new one,

Somehow my own little world

Will come grinding to a halt…?

Why does it bother me so

That I don’t know

What’s happening right now

In a game of cricket which is happening

On the other side of the planet…?

Because there’ll always be

Another cricket match…

Once this one’s over,

Won or lost,

I’ll forget all about it

And start wondering about

The next one…

It’s like that

“Oh-so-important”

Footballing game…

A couple of days later and

It doesn’t seem to matter any more,

And there’s always another one

To get worked up about

Coming along any day now…

It just doesn’t matter…

So why do I always believe

That these things are so important?

Lying awake

And so eager to please

Nobody.

You see, none of it really matters…

There’ll always be

Another blogger to read…

One who’s smarter,

And wittier,

And funnier than me,

And far better at it

Than I could ever be…

There’s always someone else

Who thinks that they might

Enjoy being a writer

Or a poet…

There’s always another

Joke to be told

And you can be quite sure

That if I don’t

Get around

To telling it,

Someone else will

Come up with it

Eventually…

Tesco wrote apologies

With unusual line-breaks

And structuring,

And they called it “free-form poetry.”

So I thought that I might

Restructure a thought

And toy with a form

I know nothing about.

Because in the end

You see,

None of it matters

At all.

Thank you.