When I‘m lost I start swinging steel chairs.
I hide brass knuckles in my pants.
I ignore kids and refuse photographs.
I poke eyes. I pull on tights.
I take off turnbuckle padding.
I rub gravel across my baby face
because when my eyes were at their bluest
I still had to go to teenage funerals.
I still had to sleep quietly as a man a thousand
miles away couldn’t believe his luck.
I still had to make tea and change the subject.
When I’m lost I set fires and tip ladders and want tables.
It all makes sense to me. I sit and scream silently
then my partner tags me back in
and distracts the ref so I can low blow the world.
© Carl Burkitt 2020