Thursday 27 December 2018

1 New Poem


Painted Radiators

It’s ticking like a metronome,
this worried thought running
between two potted plants and
the mattress-blank walls,
that gives me a peace

Yet kills all the same
a vibe the room had before
we showed up, blew it apart.

It wasn’t like me to slip
into things so quiet, fish skin
and rowing up boats to
shore.

Not like me at all, I’d say,
protest of hanging lamps,
gaslights flickering blankly
against the painted-over heat
switches that keep me worried
about how much power it took,
keeping things warm so long.

When we ice-crackle, snow-crunch
outdoors between lights and music
spiral twisting in the breeze of
mountain slush;

I had a timely expression,
one that might have borne remembrance.