[poetry]: After Larkin

by (c) Nin Harris. All Rights Reserved

So used to the knotted
fist smashing into my belly
I almost come alive
when yet another hypothesis
is revealed to be deeply flawed.
And then, like Larkin I say
“Next, Please”,
wearily as future illusions
flicker in the distance
beyond my half-closed lids
like the afterimages
of a storm that never was.