The Reforms of William Wilberforce 
 
​
Often I sit in the silence of the Commons
reading over my notes before prayers
 
while the benches are empty,
air clear, light from the windows
 
washing the floor of the chamber,
the Chaplain yet to guide with his verses:

May they never lead the nation wrongly
through love of power, desire to please,
or unworthy ideals . . .
 

I look for words dressed in velvet and ruffs,
for sentences that swell their waistcoats,
 
reasons that sneer through blackened teeth.
Sometimes I can barely find a pathway
 
through the scratching out, the scattered blots.
When the honourable members arrive
 
to take their seats, fluffing their cravats,
talking behind scented handkerchiefs,
 
the chamber echoes with promises
piously kept until the Chaplain rises:

But laying aside all private interests
and prejudices . . . seek to improve the condition
of all mankind . . .
 

Each morning I wake in the darkness
before birdsong for my devotions,
 
to read the Bible and Doddridge.
I’ve given up my place at the faro table.
 
The other night I saw Mrs Siddons
at Drury Lane for the last time.


Shortlisted in the Keats-Shelley Prize 2018