Ant Smith

Poetry

In Memory

Since memory is imperfect

Why is it so cruel?

Can I not invent a life

Lived with perfect rules?

A place where no one hits their kids

And vets do more than kill

Where every day everyone

Had more than scraps of food

Even raga muffins had

Brightly polished shoes

No one's feet were ever bare

And no one hated school

The lights stayed on

The beds were warm

And the mother sang of dad's romance

In a green and pleasant

Loving land

Since memory is imperfect

Let me take regret

And imagine that I'd never

Lived but to forget

And the mother sang

Of a fine romance

In the days before she died

But memory is too cruel

For me to be so fooled

Yes, the mother sang

Of a fine romance

And the mother lived

A life of lies

And memory is too cruel

For me to be so fooled

Poetry