George Plympton

I saw George Plympton
on 5th Avenue
and he was tall and old
and quite unlike the self of himself
I had wanted him to have.

The thing you noticed most
was all the smiling
and how fake it was
how tiring it must have been
to be him, stood in front of a stall
at the outdoor bookfair
with no one else vaguely famous in sight.

The strange thing
is how I found myself resenting him
when, after all, his collected essays
have sat above the toilet in our bathroom
for a long time now.
A place of much respect.

I think we can lose interest
in the dream of people
when their presence
proves themselves only real.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s