this isn’t an immune system     more 
a collection   of bad ideas    who fight
like drunks   outside  a
just-closed bar
in the suburbs of a country town   my
body 
it’s tied one on    without
me    I
just get the hangover  
as permanent   as a monument    some
Big Thing   installed by a committee
then let to rust   collect graffiti   and piss
visited  at times   by outsiders   
who leave 
 afraid    befuddled     well before the dark
 
Dear Kerri, I love this poem, although it is heart-breaking.
ReplyDeleteThank you Rob, always best the face the truth mate. Otherwise how to stagger on?
ReplyDeleteI love the last two lines xx
ReplyDelete