from a doctors surgery
I’m going to hoover my bed
comb the lawn.
Your standing like a fence post
blank as fresh A4,
That talking monkey under the bed keeps laughing
as his batteries start to lose the will to power
him. Coloured bricks strewn across
tea stained carpets
like magnets for naked feet.
And I know its sounds like a cliché,
and that’s because it is,
but tonight the moon looks like a silver dollar…
…in the dark sky, blanketing our heads,
pierced by acne spots
of thermonuclear fusion
I am lost
Guide me home.