Here I am again listening to sad music,
hanging my head with Johnny Cash.
It’s nice to know my hands like my body
these days, how I can swim
with the man who comes around and not drown,
how I can remember that outside my window
are trees preparing to be climbed
by a bullet with seven teeth.
My headphones are dry,
the room I’m in smells of a pastéis de nata
and marshmallow shower gel
wrapped around a freshly made cup of tea.

© Carl Burkitt 2021