Four week losing war;
two many sighs, signs,
and then identified.
I scribbled the name into
My arm, split the skin
And rubbed saliva in as the
Black ink ran.
It was a number, a time limit
For ingesting detol-
Faces flashed past me as I tried
To remember why it began,
Responsibilities to another,
Another me and other standards.
I floundered under the implications
And eventually drowned
in their eyes.
Fuss, fuss, fuss-
No care, no bother.
I didn’t have the capacity yet
To care for myself,
A reason there?
Four week losing war,
Which war? So many.
I stared down at the concrete pavement,
Contemplating broken arms and backs,
The sun scared me for a month
And so I preferred to look down,
I couldn’t look up, I couldn’t or
Wouldn’t, the air was still breathable.
Bad karma, bad love virgin,
Bad woman, bad soldier,
Personal becomes political with detol,
Imagination gives the whole
Experience a tone, a crescendo,
A fall, a clamber, an end-
Wrapped around the toilet seat,
Wretching up bile and Beechams,
Staring past death with one eye
On the TV set,
Nothing’s real anyway,
I could never set my attention straight,
Always looked too far,
Saw too far.
One thought on “Four week losing war (poem)”
Hope this soon passes – thinking of you.