An idle flick from page to page.
A moment’s sombre reverie
as I fall upon a brief précis
of hero or villain,
or captain of industry.
The balance of a life curtailed
mapped and packaged neatly
upon a pallid sheet displayed
albeit incompletely.
How decadent I feel, and am
when these morsels of endeavour
are laid before me
condensed and served
in monochrome decanter.
With a turn, the page is gone,
A lost minute from the clock.
Pushed aside by times of tides
or clatter from the rolling stock .
The pages catch and flutter now,
sails set, wind-tossed.
I grapple, fold them to a square
and ponder one across.
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