These few lines, admittedly, join the tide
Of commentary, but function as a raft,
A quiet movement of reality,
Otherwise channelled by the writer’s craft.
It is one stepping into a newsagent’s,
The broad display of papers, magazines,
Titles mercifully abbreviations
Of opinions worked out in many lines.
What actually occurs is always simple,
Complexity is in the explanation,
Compulsive in the pressure to foretell
What happens next; when all things act in union.
Papers pile high fit only for recycling,
The life event moves forward step by step,
The commentators never cease their prattling
That on the surface find a hidden depth.
