Boiler
Often you find you find yourself explaining
why here and there is not the same,
dissimilar in many similar respects
to bears of very little brain
who might find themselves stuck
and used as your convenient towel horse.
Deploy the legs - something seldom said
in my house – and you might abhor
her suggestion of a spreader bar
but Cheryl winked that time she was pissed,
and said it was on her bucket list.
And here – well, you need an Air Con,
disseminating something vaguely fresh,
somewhat cool while desert fills your chest,
you’re coughing up sand, which is wrong
and you know it, still you play along.
Over there? The boiler’s broken, last legs,
holds her hand out and begs,
you know you’re down to the very dregs,
but you keep pinning up towels with pegs.
No comments:
Post a Comment