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.