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.
- A British Subject
- Travels with Betjeman
- Kizerman and Feigenbaum
- Communism’s Comeback?
- Irving Kristol on Jews and Judaism
- The State of Charity
- La Buena Muerte
- Cool It
- From 'Russia'
- 'Going Out' and Five Other Poems
- The Final Edition
- 'The Ship of Endurance' And Three More New Poems
- The Letters Of Hugh Trevor-Roper
- Lighten Our Darkness
- Folie à Dieu
- New Poetry