Swept Off His Feet

I had a really enjoyable session today with fellow poets Llewelyn Rogers and Paul Jenkins. Each of us reads a poem, then the other two of us spend some time in discussion (with the author silent), and finally the author gets a chance to respond. It's been, so far, a very useful exercise, but I think that as we get more used to one another's styles and themes we shall be able to get a bit more deeply into the process and will find it to be an even more helpful and productive time together. This is one of the poems I read today :-

One moment it seemed he was safe and secure:

he had every part of his life mapped out, and organised, and sorted.

Then the next, he was swept off his feet.

And he had never seen it coming;

he had noted perhaps a few clouds against the horizon,

but far off, and nothing to worry about, nothing

that might change his plans.  Until, all of a sudden

he was swept off his feet.

And not simply knocked over;  that should have been

quite easy to deal with.  People fall all the time, after all,

the pavements being not what they were, but

they can generally pick themselves up,

or someone else will do it for them.  The fact is,

when he was swept off his feet

they never found him, that’s all.  He was

never seen again.

All they did find was

his umbrella, unopened, leaning against

his briefcase, likewise:  with all his carefully drafted plans

still secure within their folders.  A wet footprint nearby

might have matched the shoes he was probably wearing.

Those had been good, solid shoes, too -

you could see that from the tread -

the sort that cling securely to terra firma, boring

but reliable footwear.  Yet somehow, on that day,

those good shoes had let him down badly.

He was swept off his feet, despite having taken

(one might consider) every sensible precaution.

A search was made, of course;  after all, one cannot have

people being swept away without good reason.  But all the reports agreed

he had not been seen;

except that a clerk at the railway station

did recall having sold to a man without umbrella or briefcase

a single ticket to -

but no, he couldn’t remember; and anyway,

that man was smiling and bright-eyed,

and looking much more found than lost.