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