To Anonymous - (Doctor Who: Now We Are Six Hundred)
Iâve 100 words a minute
And not one of themâs for you.
Youâre a thing I canât describe
Donât know your what or why or who.
Youâre an itch Iâm not meant to scratch
A song that doesnât come on shuffle,
A shopping trip afforded,
The answer to my horoscope.
âStrangers are friends youâve not yet metâ
It says so in my magazine
Along with Katieâs Diet Secrets,
Psychic poodles and Sudoku,
Plus a girl whose husband minced her,
All human lifeâs therein - but mine.
âYouâve got it all!â - Iâm not convinced
Iâm not seeking tall, dark and handsome
More sort of wiry, sort of lanky.
No muscled Sven, no hirsute Barry.
Just suited with a pocket hanky.
The missing hit in my lifeâs sky.
No lover - just that bear, best friend.
Itâs your name carried on their heart.
Theyâre your laugh, your mate, your end.*
*we all deserve one of these (except for Nerys)
Youâre the bus that Iâve just missed
Like when thereâs aliens arriving
And Iâm on safari, karaoke,
A hen night, or scuba diving.
Iâve skipped a page in my lifeâs book
Some brilliantâs missing from my history
I guess we all feel that I guess
And yet itâs so my mystery.
A stone I saw in a museum
âGrandad! Itâs me - in Ancient Rome!â
And it was, Iâm so sure it hurt.
âIs it, luv? Itâs late. Letâs go home.â
Like thereâs something Iâm not being told
A locked doorâs in my memory.
Somethingâs gone and gone for good
In a life of mist and rain and grey
I cannot put my finger on
Why theyâd take my sunny day.
A film without car explosion
Beckham in a bunny onesie
The shape of just canât remember.
Youâre that one trick that mothers know
Terms and conditions, PPI
That lucky thousandth visitor
Youâre whatâs missing - Lifeâs Big Why.
Seeking the best friend Iâll never know
Iâve a hundred words a minute
And not one of them for you.