Friday, 25 January 2013
I am hanging my coat on a hanger
(fists as crunched-up as tight as two snails)
get out a cellphone and dial
with my teeth angle-grinding themselves
and my hand begins quivering ‘danger’
as I punch in the numbers to call;
circumlocute in self pity – the trial -
of hoping a human might help.
Monday, 21 January 2013
One end of a see-saw goes high in the air
and another end bangs on the ground of despair.
Tom’s in the middle with a foot on each side
scratching his forehead - he cannot decide;
(wibbling and dribbling, sizzle and shiver)
upstream or down a meandering river?
So he jumps to the left and strides to the sun,
freedom from wobbles, at last, he can run
smiles for the trust in his heart - that he won.