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Watch him now
he’s lost his wife,
how he shuffles where before
he strode, how he slumps
after perky chin
and proud chest.

See failure hitching a ride
on the left shoulder,
inner emo perched on the right
whispering hate lyrics in his ear.

Block your own whorls,
for here come his why-s
and what-were-meant-to-be-s –
verbiage like vomit
but slippery slick.

Watch him now, trying
to curry favour
with his grown sons –
his wheedling hands,
their incriminating eyes,
the heels of their shoes.


James Gering has been a diarist, poet and short story writer for many years. His poetry and fiction have garnered some awards and have appeared in a number of journals including Rattle, Every Writer, Meanjin and The Lake. When not writing, James ponders, rock climbs and teaches English at the University of Sydney in Australia. His website:

© 2018, James Gering

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