The colour of rust

 Can I lie here forever in comfortable ruin?

smoking rolly after rolly

surrounded by scratched records

and books with broken backs

that never open or close?

No we must get up and greet the day.

I do not want to get up now or ever.

I want to bury my head in the pillow

as the gloomy mist rises and circles

and pretend I am an abandoned sculpture.

You may not do that any longer.

What then must I do?

You must play scales on the clarinet

and do the dishes and take out the bins.

But I am damaged and my heart has fallen

between the floorboards.

We all carry our wounds.

If we had no burdens

there would be nothing to lay down.

You need to change the batteries in your clock.

Why does your mum still hem your trousers?

How am I to put my suit on when I’m bleeding?

Work will stop the flow.

Dark clouds gather and leave.

It cannot rain forever.