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Into Surrey

(a poem on Henry VIII)

He said,

“come to Surrey,

my --

pococurante.  But don’t slow

down enough to breath.

He looked tall, from

my position. 

And I said:

“I don’t know which ghost shadows


the most, but I’d

grow happy still with just

the memory of half your face.”

“Oh, we’d grow

weary of

being so happy still

without a worry.”

He said.

“This time will be a different rill,

of vows from off my lips

don’t look –

don’t think of verry, only be a little bit weary --

For the future is

what the future isn’t.”

He said: “Darling, I have a big box

inside my head, with

room enough for two.

In fact –

room enough for you.”

I got down on broken knees,

looked up into the future

but didn’t think

it had a double chin.

I said, “I wish;

you could see it

from my perspective -- ”

“Seeing me?”

He interrupted,

But the wind interrupted me more.

And I lowered my eyes,

not for Cleves,

but for what was left

of ‘me.’

Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of the Polytechnic Institute at Purdue University, where he received his PhD in English. He teaches cross-disciplinary courses that blend humanities with other areas. He has published over 100 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 40 different journals. He loves to travel.

Triin Paja