DIY
Trust is getting more expensive. I know
how those people in the Weimar newsreels felt
(except that I don’t) but I kid myself I can empathise –
How barrows-ful of cash were required, and yet
insufficient
Never bring a screwdriver to a drill fight, you will only
go down, under-spun, orphaned by light
Every moment so irrevocable, a nail in a nail-gun, and
yet
we live our whole lives pretending otherwise,
extenuating
At the going down of the sun, the cashbox must be reconciled the greasy coins
laid out we are short there are dozens of zinc-ed
lips insisting, they will not be silenced, and so I
heave myself into the promotional wheelbarrow, naked but
for cheesecloth
artistically arranged
I am moon-like and perfectly
bruised, but with
no means of locomotion – perhaps I am hoping to be
grabbed like a dangling handbag, possessed as recompense
for all the uncalled debts, the collapse of
Rome, everything taken and sullied – OK perhaps as the
first instalment
only, just enough to cover one tree, one creek, one
family
man-handled
(the above is an acrostic on Angela’s last line ‘the
hinge we all hang from’)
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