Sunday, 24 April 2011


In my heart - a water bomb –

like a spirit – bubble –

locked within my heart’s divide

in closets, rooms and cupboards

on the slant and stuck there,

unable to burst out

‘cos every chamber’s boarded up

with dust and drying wattle.

I need to scrub and scrub – berserk -

and clear the crap away

from here - in here - it’s Banksy’s work,

graffiti’s everywhere.

Bristle, scrubbing brush - and soap -

and with a leap - at last, at last -

my bubble levels - bursts – and softly - oh - I weep.