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.