What Was His Name Again? by Susan Jordan

I’ve seen him half a dozen times
that man with the – you know – the
what-do-you-call-it sweater. The one
who – didn’t he? – lived with… Jean?

I always thought he should have been
a Peter, or was it James? He’s got
that kind of face. Or he could be
a William, except he isn’t, he’s a—

You must know who I mean. He eats
spelt bread, rides horses, meditates
all hours of the day and night.
Doesn’t he? Or am I thinking of—?

No, that wasn’t him. That was
—oh, the other one, the bloke
you always said looked like
a sort of weasel. That moustache.

Got it. It wasn’t that one at all.
The man I meant has holes
all over his socks and writes
haiku, won’t wear polyester.

Ah, wait… that rings a bell. Surely
you knew him too. You did?
You never see him now. You thought
at least I might remember that.

Susan Jordan has always written prose but until recently wrote poetry only from time to time. Inspired by 52, Jo Bell’s wonderful online group, she started writing a lot more poems. Her poems have appeared in print and online magazines including Prole, Obsessed with Pipework, Snakeskin and Ink, Sweat & Tears.