the ability to appreciate a little gift
from someone who barely knows
the predicaments of holding the door
for a casual passer-by never meant
to become a vanishing art cultivated
only by the ageing one mr nothing
found on yellowed pages of memoirs
forged by the poet for the sake of it
but even if he called him frivolous
accusing the poet of only playing
with words like portable atheist
propounding his own belief system
nothing less than the portentous
profundity of negative concord
would bother the unenthused poet
in the face of mr nothing’s unrest
hidden pilcrow 