Dropping notes into the Thames,
The cellist dips his bow
With the sway of a dead man’s song
While the sun dips its glow.

His hands will rise with the tide
and smooth out their waves
While I attempt to take stock —
To smooth out my day.

Should I walk to the wide river

Under dozing bridges and laden

With boats peculiarly named?

Should I tear myself away

From this comfortable window seat

Where the reading is quiet and kind?

Should I jump, full force into society

Where shoulders and voices bump

Like stones thrown across the room?

Should I bring her flowers from

The Queen’s own garden, filling

The space with proper waves and nobility?

Should I spend my last few pounds

On bread to eat or books to eat,

Considering the importance of nourishment?

Should I set out to fall in love

With another dozen girls as we

Pretend that no such thing exists?

Should I be me or merely seen?