by Paul Danon (13), Gaytonian 1968
I stand abridge the swirling waters below.
Black Thames, beneath.
I stare at the torrent of hurling black cloth,
Folding, creasing, ironing flat.
Parting the sides of the pillar that defies the sweeping wake.
My worries below me are spread;
I look over my kingdom of care
As I stand on the parapet, thinking
Of the way across the river.
Something has spoken, the time is at last.
The waters open eager to receive.
The noise is over
But now I have jumped
Perhaps it was unwise to commit suic