Poetry Month 2012. 7: Things

I don’t really know much about Fleur Adcock – possibly because I couldn’t really be arsed reading Four Women Poets properly. This poem of hers actually reminds me of Selima Hill.


     There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
     There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
     committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
     than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
     It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in
     and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.

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