whisker whistle 

and tiger wail – and once  

I was a fair-haired boy, impish 

blonde-fingered, milk- 

eyed and lovely,  

tender, my teeth  

all gone straight 

from my gums, 

pink as plastic fruit 

and sweet with artificial additives.  

I study the pictures 

hung in my parents’ house: 

once I was  

thirsty, 13, unscarred 

and easy to get along as a child. 

I acted in plays, 

a star 

amongst butterflies. I played sports, 

grew thin 

and tall 

and beautiful. my hair 

toppled like a mane 

or trees  

clutching a cliffside 

and my clothes 

all fit   

on my back. I was a child, 

I was a teenager, I 

was –  

now the days come on  

killed like raindrops, 

each ending as another one begins, 

and I sit in the shade 

well out of the sun 

and listen  

to the whisper of the window – shave 

each 2 / 3 days 

and shower in the morning. 

I brush my teeth, 

work a job, pay rent 

and electricity, 

drink wine in the evenings 

and document 

all my tragedy 

in a file on a broken laptop. 

my back 

lies on a bed 

and my mind 

goes everywhere 

but forwards. 

my girlfriend is angry, 

my brother in the hospital, animals 

flinch 

and the sink is blocked. 

my mind goes bad 

sometimes, 

my ears ring 

and my eyes 

get all fogged up 

and useless. 

once 

there was everything  

different –  

days into sunset, 

riding like cowboys 

and me,  

slim as a tree branch in April, 

wriggly as a landed  

fish.