Ten minutes of breathing was all it took

Ten minutes of breathing was all it took

to miss being Arthur.

My mother’s voice on the line sounds thin

describing a man who died under a hull.

I have this book I bought at a stall

where I wrote that name in the back,

testing the weight of the letters

in a hand that isn’t quite mine.

I wonder if he would have liked the coffee

I’m letting get cold on the table.