Flight

  He’d post it from the airport (so he
  thought) to keep things simple. 
  Life had a way of complicating things: 
  emotions: sudden crying, a flick 
  of joy when all one really needed 
  was the steady work of research, 
  some thoughtful reference to Linnaeus 
  pinning the heart in its right place. In this 
  he’d failed – marriages and children spilled 
  from specimen trays like butterflies come 
  inexplicably alive. (All he wants is peace.)
  His decision had the ring of truth,
  like finding where a bug belonged, 
  a taxonomic certainty. And so he wrote: 
  there’s no one else. But I yearn for 
  the innocence of childhood. 
  No responsibilities. No ties. 
  I’m going to cruise my life along 
  the straight lines of canals. 
  And posted it as his flight was called: 
  just half a page to say he’d not be back.