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It started out as such a nice day
But then a cloud crept up and the day grew overcast.
Your spirit clouded over too. ‘Nowhen’, we don’t say.
Perhaps we should. It’s best to hit on a process
Rather than a plot. It’s not a matter of cause and effect.
Nowhere – the space that time forgot.
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It’s the elephant in the room leaving no room
For us others. Its presence is absence – a disgrace!
But why make such a fuss out of not being able to locate it?
Some wade in until they are out of their depth.
Others are just dropped into the deep to flail about.
Maybe they flail in a landward direction. Then again, maybe not.
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And when I pass my neighbour’s gate, I say, “Lovely weather today.”
And he replies, “Let’s hope it doesn’t cloud over.”
At other times, when he offers “Lovely weather,” I reply, “Let’s hope
It doesn’t cloud over,” as I keep on walking by,
Or I remark, “A bit chilly today” so that he or his wife can reply,
“They say it’s likely to get better later.”
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As for nowhere, many poems get there
Lickety-split, without a clue to its meaning.
Plato hated poets and devised philosophy
To counter Homer’s lies. He would be appalled, I’m sure
By today’s cos-play homilies tarted up as verse
Whose freedom’s a curse contaminated by some petty simile.
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I don’t feel that this poem’s getting anywhere.
It is not a painting of night, not a cloud above a wood.
Not a woman looking back at the sunken boat of her virginity.
It can accumulate line after line,
But is it any closer to being understood?
It should have been written by John Ashbery.
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