You make me feel
like I’m scrubbing my bits on a bus.
I’m a sweaty sausage on display at a deli,
a ‘break in case of emergency’.
When my brain does that morning day dream
thing of making me pretend I’m performing
the future eulogy of a loved one, I feel like
I’m drowning in a see through coffin.
Sometimes though, watching condensation
drip down you as I sit on the loo opposite
I can remember rainy motorway trips
and the taste of raspberry travel sweets.
© Carl Burkitt 2020