The other day I bought a new jacket. It's smart and green, it has a hood. I was initially quite pleased with myself. But now I look at it and just feel sad. I'm sad because that jacket means it's Autumn again. And then it will be Winter. And then another year will have gone by and I'll still be sitting in this same chair with my little notebook open on my lap trying to write my way out of a paper bag. No wait, not paper, polythene. A polythene bag is more suffocating. And more depressing because you can see the world you're struggling so hard to get back to.
Today is...an effort.
The bus roars on
a wolfhound through the fog,
sent out to find the bodies.
I turn my collar up
to look like on of those painters;
calm and detached,
a leafy branch floating
down the window of a river
with no perilous thoughts
to ruffle my peripheries
or disturbs the patterns
trailing out at my back.
But really I'm drowning.
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