Sunday 24 April 2011

Heart

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.

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