This guy comes up to me in the pub
asks if I’m into poetry.
Yeah, I say, I dabble.
He looks around,
to make sure nobody’s listening.
Want to buy a Dylan Thomas? he asks.
Genuine. It’s legit.
Intrigued, I follow him outside
to the pub car-park,
where all the dodgy-deals go down,
he shows me the hand-written paper
in a plastic wallet.
I check out the document
in the street-light glow.
And it’s definitely legit? I ask.
The guy nods, guaranteed, mate.
I hand over a fistful of cash
and we part ways,
he shuffles off into the night,
disappearing into the shadows.
The next night in the pub
I proudly show off my purchase,
passing it around my friends.
Do you think it’s authentic?
The debate begins.
It is studied, scrutinised
held up to the light,
each swirl of the handwriting looked at
under a magnifying glass
finally someone says
yes, it’s genuine alright.
A genuine Dylan Thomas?
My goodness, that’s amazing.
Erm not quite, they say,
what you have here is
a genuine Tom Dylan.