i’m forever blowing bubbles

I shall attend, one day soon, in a suit,

your funeral.

 

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

 

forget myself.

c/o

 

30 Aurora Terrace

Hillcrest

Hamilton

 

2

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

way, almost.

 

Do you know I’m afraid of traffic lights now, Stop

signs some days?

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