This poem has been hacked into.
It was meant to be a private conversation,
the line made secure with end-stops.
But someone cracked the code and listened in.
I hate to think how it will be read
when all I spoke about in confidence —
the pizza, the piazza, the back row of the Plaza —
is out there in the open, on the page.
It's not my fault the text went viral
but I feel I've betrayed your confidence.
What kind of world are we living in,
when poems become public property?
In future I'll be more clandestine —
keep my voice down and my texts oblique
so that no one comprehends my meaning
or discovers who I'm speaking to
and the line between us is restored
and you can trust me again, as you should:
whoever you are, whatever your name is,
these words are intended just for you.