Poetry from Henry Bladon

Hidden Truth


I said I wanted to know

what was really going on.

He said he found it hard to say,

it was like he had a splinter

in his tongue that stopped

him from telling the truth.

I countered his mysterious metaphor

by telling him in that case I felt

like I’m hidden between

the pages of a novel but I’m not on

anyone’s pile of books to be read.

He said that was too obscure

even for him. He said he thought

it was typical of me and it

sounded too metaphysical

to make any sense at all.

I nearly said, what a hypocrite, but instead

said there’s something illiberal about your attitude,

because I read the term in the paper

and I thought it sounded intelligent

even though I’m not sure what it meant.

As I left, he said nothing.

Which was a first.

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