Lover

Here is another new poem, inspired by a recent visit to the psychiatric unit at Llandough Hospital, Cardiff.

Lover

Your mind, like blown glass,
Has cracked.

They have taped up
What they can. Only a few
Fragments are missing.

In the tea room,
An older woman in tight jeans brags about how
You give her bear hugs.

In the hallway, a girl

Is pulling herself toward the door,
On the floor. Ragdoll thin,
Her hair streams behind her
Like a wedding veil.

You are bearded. A young prince.
Dandruff confettis your shoulders
As you hold court.

You are popular here.
It is Sunday, and I am your fifth visitor.

You tell me you love me.
You want to show me your poems but
They are in the older woman’s room.

I see two people I know:
A sex offender I taught to write haiku.
A well-to-do woman
I need to invoice for work.

You put sugar in my coffee,
Forgetting that I do not
Take it.

You kiss me. I kiss back.
I am let out and walk past traffic,
Keep walking until
I don’t know where I am.

You drink tea. Set up pieces
On a board game
You do not know how to play.

NaPoWriMo - Poem 11 - It Could Be You

It Could Be You

That big white finger
In the sky
Could split the clouds
And come on down
To stop above
Your little house
And turn you
From a pauper
To a prince

But then that finger
Could come down
To point out
To the whole world how
You’re guilty
Of some unknown crime
And turn you
From your bed
Into a straightjacket or cell

We read our
Sunday papers
And marvel at the luck
Of those
Who win
And those
Who lose

But when a knock
Comes at
Your door
Remember that
This time
It could be you