Gravy

For Ray, blessed in his diminishing days,

it was gravy - the lingo of his contentment; mine is all

too real, working from Carver’s other joy of what is,

but even this now needs throwing away: how my actual

day begins and ends so oppositely, from the happy

expectation and work to make it so – this simple sauce

in a pan - then destroyed in a moment’s clarity of truth

and honesty as painful as it turned out to be, even in the

shock of the telling. That too reminds me of Ray

and his warning to keep quiet - the please, please

will you please be quiet when knowing the

candour of revealing is also the ending of everything.

Carver’s gravy that pains me with the joy of his ease

and mine left cold with the unwillingness to eat.