365 Poems – 145 The World Today (Rough First Draft)
The World Today
You didn’t used to have cold eyes,
but now they’re like blue gaps.
The bones in your legs are warmed
by your laptop, not movement.
We don’t walk anywhere anymore.
It’s like I’ve unsettled the world,
and you’re responsible for
everyone else’s reactions.
There’s a horrible sense of shifting
transformation. Like the feeling
you have after a horror film,
where irrational thoughts of it
are prolonged, and during the day,
when the sun is at its highest point,
and it ought to be impossible
for ghosts to exist.
I think I can hear the earth shouting,
describing beautiful things, that
are being abandoned and forgotten.
The world’s feelings are overgrown
now and lost.
I decide to grow my hair long, and,
when I show you where it’s grown
to, after many months, your face
is almost like stone, and I’m just
a mountain in the way, disrupting
the internet connection.
I feel as if I am living as an illustrated
disturbance, and you are just waiting
for when we are old.
By then, I want to have been along
roads less travelled. Done things
a little unsuitable. I want to have
looked at the stars, before my eyes
have filmed over.
The ghosts of fishnet stockings
have long disappeared.
But I have decided that I will grow
my hair past summer, and then,
run and run, until I meet people
who are balanced islands,
who don’t do all their talking
through their fingers, who let shadows
lengthen under their eyes.
I’m going to be taking my chances.