Is It Impossible?

His knee could be an accident

spilling someone’s drink

an ill-timed road crossing

but it’s not.

It’s not.

His leg moves like a building site crane

clumsy through binoculars, but, actually

it’s the precisest of men working levers

making sure he doesn’t bulldoze wrong buildings.

And he’s waited 5 months to bulldoze you.

When will you let him bulldoze you?

No-one cares, helps or hopes you

will be here tomorrow

and if he’s only, bar Peggy, who once

not now though

why not hard hat blue collar outside?

Why not like maybe?

true love

Face Time

When everyone else is dead, let’s Facetime, forget that they mattered once, and the week long crush, that might have been a month, won’t become a regret now they’re gone, and the miles that matter to us are inflicted moves that graduate, completion and win, committ, and I’d pour credit into petrol if it meant we were seconds closer than four hours, that didn’t involve trucks and trains.

My face is a rectangle bed stick, like sleeping together, this is.

It’s HD so the image is perfect, right?

Once, my dad cut my fringe an inch short. I can’t remember him doing it, the reason for it – my mum was away, asleep or speaking languages to the neighbours and they couldn’t hear the vowels or the numbers so understanding each other took a really long time. When she came into the kitchen her mouth opened like a slit baked potato and in bed later I could hear half-spun swear words and five times, “What were you thinking?”