Disservice

it seems I’m always doing you

disservice again in my poems.

I write you down sometimes:

some sketches in light

variation, but always

it’s only more lines

of typed poetry

and romantic

general poetry –

about you and me

and our life together:

our bed in the morning

and our bed at night.

what am I to say?

that you aren’t poetic

at lunchtime? or perhaps

that you are, but other things

moreso? after all, I write plenty

of afternoon poetry.

but I'm not going to do it

about you – what;

follow you about

with a notebook, keeping track

of each movement? and the way

you get annoyed

by my method for washing

our plates? and I'm sorry, I know promised,

but I can't ever call a book

"Chrysty". it just wouldn't sell;

people don't realise

how important you are. you're not birds

or gardens – people care

about things. and only I

love you, or hope

that I do. if not, who knows –

maybe he'll call something

"Chrysty". not a book

but maybe just a poem. and no

matter what

disservice, I can't

compete with that.

D.S. Maolalai

ABOUT THE POET:

DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as "a cosmopolitan poet" and another as "prolific, bordering on incontinent". His work has been nominated fourteen times for BOTN, eleven for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections; "Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden" (Encircle Press, 2016), "Sad Havoc Among the Birds" (Turas Press, 2019) and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022).