The Idea

207166_5432740873_3892_n_zps3dd13a90by David Bryant03 Dec 2013

It sleeps in the desk drawer,
but only for a year; you can’t
keep mediocrity down.
Fate has decreed your
clumsy hand will
chance upon it in the dust,
in the dead skin from the
wrought-out hand-wringing
sessions of blocked days.

It never seems like much at first,
but always has the air of “something”,
so you walk outside with it, and
watch as hungry for attention it
grabs the faces of passers-by,
pulls at their lips, seems to
force them to say
“What a fantastic idea!” and
“How did you come to it?” and
“Who’d have thought!” and you
smile, nod, accept praise
at this stage, pretend
you’d thought of it yesterday.

Word gets around.
This something is more than something.
Journalists are most excited.
Sponsors ring you on the phone.
Dictators quote you in speeches.
Before you know where you are,
London Underground have signs
reading “This station is
closed at X hour, for that is
when the man with the novel
idea walks past, and we
cannot cope with the
congestion of people
clamouring for his attention.”

Your photo in the paper
reveals a grin as false
as a school photo snap smile, a
protractor forced down
between your lips.
You have touched the hearts and
souls of many with a
dusty, half-formed reject of an
idea, and this is the
price you pay – to be
known for it, to
talk about it
until the day you die,
knowing it will surely
outlive you.