The Death of Neptune
I watched the sun sober the water
until it was nothing but a cloud
& I remembered drinking
until I dried completely.
Neptune shaped adolescence —
stole my orphan self
& dragged me into Hades.
I was on fire for years
in desperate need of water.
I was as thirsty as any dying man.
Others say, don’t mention
such things aloud — but why?
Shame is a whipped dog &
I long escaped its kennel.
You may be an image but I’m a Self.
At Christmases & parties, the curious
seek me out. Motivation varies.
‘But surely after 34 years….’ is one story.
I start politely. If they persist
I look the worst in the eye:
‘Jekyll’s very nice but you wouldn’t like my Hyde.’
How dull repetition is. To some I say —
I am no longer libertine or dilettante.
I don’t wish to be the man I was.
I made a deal, I traded up —
like Rumi did with Shams.
A life for a life. New wine for old.
Soon the balance will be owed.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
