Need – New Poem



Its eleven am.

I want a baby.


I want to fill trolleys with cotton buds,

baby grows and rusks.


I want the back of my neck to smell

like the top of my baby’s head.


He says he once tried to snort baby powder,

and laughs at me

for being a silly spastic.

He doesn’t believe my desperation

is any great thing.


He drinks absinth and writes

with his bare feet,

while the bathroom walls rot,

cereal boxes mount next to the bin

and bills bunch up under the rug.


He says drink helps,

and pushes me away when I work at his fly.


I’d like to capture a moment of myself,

before we met.

Before the mattress on the floor,

fag ash in the bowls

next to a sink crowded with bike parts.


I am looking through the wrong end of a telescope,

unable to express myself and

understand this experience

he calls life.