The Man Who Can

by Lucas Howard · 25th November 2016

Poem

You run a bath for my return
I take out the bins
I forget half of all I yearned
You remember little things
You have the eye, the finer touch
I engage in fauvist art
Laying roads down with my brush
So fervent in my marks
That sometimes I brush over you
I’m the king of selfish boors
And while I’m voicing my confusions
You are left with yours
I want to be the one who chooses
Not to interrupt
I want to be your loving Lucas
The man who can
Shut up

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photograph by Priscilla Westra

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Lucas Howard

When I was seven I started copying poems out of a book and telling people they were mine. When I ran out of good ones to copy, I had to start writing my own. I have been performing and organising nights on the UK spoken word scene now for over seven years and am most of the way through writing the first draft of my first novel 'Zedlist', which is serialised on here. As the story is in fetal form, any critiques or suggestions are most welcome.