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,
Bristle, scrubbing brush - and soap -
and with a leap - at last, at last -
my bubble levels - bursts – and softly - oh - I weep.