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On Borrowed Time

© Nicholas Vosper 2003

In my own time.
Okay maybe not.
On work time,
my boys time,
her time.

If I could make
Her understand
I would, but,
she never will

She sees
only neglect,
feels nothing
but exasperation
at my clumsiness.
My concentration
adrift elsewhere.

I'm here
in body, but
my mind wanders,
roams nomadic
in search
of something.

A phrase, a line,
just a single,
solitary,
elusive word,
and, if lucky
a poem,

The poem,
of all poems.
She doesn't
understand this,
she never will.