The Failed Philosopher

 The Failed Philosopher

Some memories stick out like a photo falling out of an album

uninvited. The time a young German girl, an only child who lived

around the corner, on a council estate, in England, whose mother

gave me the first taste of yogurt, in the fifties where being German

was not popular. Aware that I was not popular like the girl

that other girls circled, and this girl was younger

by a couple of years and she sought my friendship, called across

the dell and I ignored her. She called again and I ignored her again.

Later her mother asked me why I did that and I was silent.

Then that time walking along the alley behind our house

with a girl who was older and admired, when we were attacked

by a gang who said I could go free – they wanted her not me.

Later I knocked on her door to see if she wanted to play

she answered with a bandage around her head and told me

they beat her up, dragged her by the hair, because they said

her father put their father in jail, and this girl asked why

I didn’t tell my parents, why I did nothing to help

and I was silent. In those days I had nothing to say

to myself or to them.

Was there, is there, something in me that is mean and withered?

There is no way to defend myself.

Now outrage stews in my skull for the missing and murdered women

and the evil stupid men who think they are winning when they kill

but worse than this

I don’t know what to do about it.

Like a force of nature that those who cannot know why they do or don’t do

go out and kill friendship or dragonflies. Those who need love most

but don’t deserve it are the tricksters who return me into the arms

of something else I cannot understand.

(from Infinite Power, Janet Vickers. Ekstasis 2016)