Passing through York,
I am aware that there is war.
slaughter and counter-slaughter,
lives piling up on the side
whilst Africa starves;
and yet, all I can think about
is you.
Newspapers cheat attention
with passing headlines of half-truths
and murderers turned to heroes.
My bank account empties,
all friendships have perished;
and still, all that I suffer for
is you.
Bury me in cigarettes
and drown me in my drink.
Please, forget that I was ever here
to tread this land,
to lie on my back over
the ceramic bathroom tiles.
Oh darling,
I’ve lost my balance without you.
c