Poem: Aiming Low

A poem about the time a single line by Roger McGough helped me change direction

I’ve never been a total
straight-and-narrow guy,
but I’ve kept to where I’ve kept,

which is good enough
and also just as well. But the time
I felt that I hit a rock-bottom, which
is a story for another day, I
remember thinking of just the final line
from a Roger McGough poem:

“He aimed low in life and missed”.

I had missed. Or was about to.
My aim needed adjusting.
I needed adjustment. I took
the hint – I pulled myself up – and
got out. And I never told anyone
(until now) that the words of Roger McGough

were ringing in my head.
But they were. And they still are.
And it isn’t because they’re
profound as much as it is that
they are the words that found me.
I found them at a time that mattered.

And they have mattered ever since.
I’ve projected my meaning onto them
as much as they have embedded their meaning
into me. You see, I was sitting there,
in a holding cell, and the other blokes
were blowing smoke and cursing the world
and looking at who it might be good
to start a fight with…and I was looking
at my shoes as if it was somehow
their fault alone, like they had been
the ones that had carried

the weight of me to that eventuality.
And I stifled a laugh as I thought
of Roger McGough being there
for me still. His wisdom weird
and wonderful in equal measures.

I had been aiming far too low.