Ghana
There's no taste like satisfaction,
And there's nothing quite like knowing
That I don't need to know your
Birthday fell two days ago.
You wrote to me from Ghana
Asking for the feather pen.
You told me you'd found Karma,
You loved to watch the forest growing,
And that you were reaping
What we spent those lost years sowing.
I was happy that I
Didn't have to be
Happy
For you again.
The sun shone down on London,
But still I felt a tingle
Shiver through my shoulder-blade
When I found your letter left you single.
I sit and chew my ink-stained hands,
Tickling furrows in my brow
With the quill you gave me
And I gave you,
Looking for an answer to
That worthless question:
“How are you?”
That will fill a page or two
And still reveal nothing new.