I’m thirty and I won’t


I won’t go fishing, ski-ing, learn to fly
or hang-glide, climb K2,or see the Taj
Mahal in moonlight; take a tent and
make for Mexico, plant apple trees unless
fruition’s guaranteed; do a nineteen-
eighties rewrite of Twelfth Night; be too cold
or hungry; meet a silent stranger on
some beach, with stars slung round his shoulders, and
the sea’s relentless rhythm breaking by;
be a temporary typist or go blonde
search through swamps in Central Africa
in pursuit of some new species I can claim;
bring another child into the world;
win a fortune on the National
and then blow it playing blackjack; learn
to surf or run for Minister of State;
I won’t take walks in rain so I can cry
since I won’t need to. Then again….

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