Tuesday, 26 February 2013


I can taste blood. This headache
is worse than my usual hangover.

Where is the meat from the wet hollow
in the right side of my tongue?
And the inside of the right cheek?
Both pieces gone. Did I swallow them?
Aching everywhere. Exhaustion.
Anna's voice gently tells of another seizure.
She sounds upset. All I can do is groan
and whisper Oh no, then wind back
the clock thirty-odd years, until curling up
like an embryo seeking safety the way
it once was. Crying because it all seems
so shameful, pathetic. Nose is blocked,
moustache and beard stiff from the bleeding,
upturned bedside table, smashed lamp.
Her darling face comes into focus.

Time to shower, breakfast, psyche myself
into a Head Of Department again.

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