The Mental Health and Mindfulness Boogie Woogie Shuffle By John Doyle

You could sandblast the right-on sanctity from his bare vulnerable soul, 

join school teachers twiddling their thumbs during his passion play -

then clapping in rehearsed agreement;

you could slam his poetry on the floor, 

but that just wouldn't be active listening, would it?

You could be mindful of his struggle, 

seeking a diagnosis to fit his trope, 

politicians looking at their phones 

while a brave soul like him takes poems 

to the outer-edges of some shit or another;

he likes girls to think he's the first man who’s ever cried

forgetting a billion of us who watched Alan Ladd slumped on his horse 

trot towards that graveyard -

then he takes commissions from toxic men 

to enlighten us on toxic masculinity -

I guess getting that diagnosis is better than what he seems to think is poetry.

He stands facing his acolytes, brave pioneer, standard issue mullet and mustache,

telling us “there’s so much begrudgery in Ireland…”, 

and that chestnut about online abuse

that only happens to D-List types, the first man in history 

to acknowledge his emotions, fumbling fragile fingers on his appearance fee 

when none of these schlumps are looking

Half man, half creature of very odd habit, John Doyle dabbles in poetry when other forms of alchemy and whatnot just don't meet his creative needs. From County Kildare in Ireland, he is (let's just politely say) closer to 50 than 21.