We fight a hard wired self-hate
perpetuated three generations deep
a shut-factory broken-toothed anger
that finds no solace in shop work or service

they had more, once

so kids get to swallow it too
drink it deep and let its grim bloat leach
into blood and skin and hair

we fight hard as hell
with teeth and tongues of tolerance
and claws to catch and hold
to pause, not patronise
to see that inertia is owned

Twang of iron behind teeth
picking yourself up again, again
from a self-penned melodrama
(one with a snot-sobbing end)

Clouds part, lending a single beam
striking your heart, and you know

Dragging the back of your hand
across fat lips that creep up
for the first time since constant bowls of cereal
and giggling, cartoon mornings

Collecting everything that’s yours
in one hand, a little blood
the doorway shines and you’re gone

Mainly blue, but colours shift
as the nape of your neck smell might appeal
or the mole on your cheek
that will stubbornly never be Marilyn

This love, like bright sunlight in shallows
will dapple and confuse greens and golds
as our souls ossify in cool weeds

A swallow pair appeared
fashionably late
to legitimise the charcoal incense burned
in honour of escaping carpet
and the same ****** curtains

Other birds stuck with us through the ****
but as they are chubby, drab and common,
love’s taken for granted

The sign of these slick interlopers
with their continental drift
makes us giddy and all a-flap
at least til the bite of autumn

Champagne corks pop
a cow parsley flourish
on your life’s roadside
after driving alone a while
someone to fiddle with the A/C
and monopolise the aux
with unrepentant cheese
is a welcome change
as the prevailing breeze
shifts

Shush brain,
let the regular, looped refrains drop,
seek a safe, blank space,
a place for quietude
and maize based snacks:
for the love of Pete
relax

A bold density of memory anchors,
scattered across a past
where colour saturates
like someone sat on the remote control,
holy hand grenades on loose afternoons
with the slap and bicker of passing the joypad
in blithe ignorance of washing piles
deadlines and empty pockets

Drifting in the now, helium light,
well-heeled but drab,
absent fingers trace the slight links
on the line around arthritic ankles
as they gently, surely give