On reading a biography of Dylan Thomas
If Dylan Thomas
were alive today
Huddled around the tiny fire of his longing
Always wanting to be where he is not
Loving with violent intensity
Altering each poem a hundred times
Carefully editing his letters
Making promises
he’ll never keep
because of the dreams
Regarding through his window
the birds
and the people
Thinking up ways
to have his cake and eat it
Spending his money
on small pleasures
I’d meet him at some festival
recognise myself
and either
recoil
or
fall in love
or
both.
After that
I’d email him
But he wouldn’t write back
and I wouldn’t know whether
it was because I have no cleavage
because I have no money
or just that
he didn’t get around to it
because of the dreams