The Moment

Argh, blog, must I update you while I have so much work to do with exams and reports and planning the next month and a half of my life? Not to mention organising an Intercambio nights, some flights, and finding resources to teach to 16-year-olds who think they know English but don’t? That expression “not to mention” is odd, isn’t it? The act of using it means that you are about to mention…. I won’t tax myself on that too much now, though, I’m busy.

Yes, that serial short story will come. I know which one I’m writing now, and have tentatively divided it into three parts. But I spent so long faffing with the other two stories I’ve got practically nothing done on it.

Instead, like pork loins to chasing wolves, I shall throw a poem at you to save myself from your fangs.

It’s called “The Moment”, and rose out of a conversation with an old friend. I find the conversation part of the poem clunky, so I will gladly take suggestions on how to improve it, as when I took it to my Creative Writing meeting, I didn’t get many comments on that part.

The Moment

“But everyone gets the Moment!
The sticky time.” “Sticky?”
“Sticky eyes, something circling
in the stomach. a something-
could-happen Moment.”
“Something?” “Between us, or
whoever, depending. It happens.”

“And that was ours?” “It was.”
“I hardly remember it.”
“It didn’t happen, though.”
“What didn’t?” “Anything.”
For the greater good
of our relationship

on that hill, in the dark,
we looked at each other,
by that cemetery, the jokes,
our separate thoughts
separately twining, and hoping
they were twining in the
other’s thoughts. Our minds
beyond our conversation,
on each other’s cautious eyes.

And we walked on, after
the Moment, we walked on.


3 thoughts on “The Moment”


    “But everyone gets the Moment!
    The sticky time.”

    “It was.”
    “I remember it.”

    o our ship

    on that hill, in the dark,
    we looked h ot ,

    par t ho g
    par t hop
    they were twin the
    other’s ho t.
    beyond vers ,
    her eyes.

    d e w on

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