Throwback Poem: Mad Hatter

Found this poem from six years ago on my Facebook feed. Thought it was worthy of a place like this.

Think i'm mad

as a hatter,

just because

i want to sit and

drink tea with the dead

for a while

on a sunday afternoon?

Just cos i like to

trace the patterns in

the woodwork on

the table with my fingers

when we're talking,

yes,

something has been

here before,

and it's us,

with words so well

used that they're now

damaged and

we can't even tell what

they mean anymore

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

The speaker is not mad, just somber. No specifics are given, but it sounds like something that once seemed hopeful, but didn't end that way.