I shall attend, one day soon, in a suit,
I’m sick too, but it isn’t terminal,
although it is actually.
I cycle home from the shop
& – Yo, Priscoe.
Thought I was someone else,
someone good. You made me
30 Aurora Terrace
The stone in my boot resolves itself.
We get used to anything – torture,
if protracted. Stretched to lengths we can’t imagine.
If we live long enough, something terrible will happen.
Immortality’s cracked because any day now
you can expect the worst, a fate worse than death.
I have a lingering doubt, a ready-made
phrase. I hesitate
at the roundabout; go, give
Do you know I’m afraid of traffic lights now, Stop
signs some days?