POEM IN WHICH I FEEL LIKE SHIT

Wake up at night
What time is it out there
Don’t really want to know
let it just be night

Tips of lungs on fire
hunger acid in stomach
Is this two pains or one
Which is which

Hands across ribs
as if to stifle the flames
Twelve on each side
like elongated piano keys
Which one is middle C
U leee
don’t feel like playing now

Feet have been useless
for two days and two nights
pushing air pedals under desk
car or piano or both
Toes no longer buzzing
from this afternoon’s concert
or last Sunday’s map drive
across Belgium and Kent

I turn, kind of
Is this foetal
or dead-cat-in-the-road position
I overhear myself emitting a sound
between purring and heaving
or vice-versa

My back a chunky jigsaw
that just won’t fit 

And all the fast-talking narcissists
throwing virus balls at my head
I hide under the quilt
they’ll tire themselves out soon
learn their lesson alone

Xiii dwejjjaq 
it’s been two years since the darkness
felt so narrow

Inqum biex inkun qomt
I get up for the sake of it
Shall I make coffee with cardamom
boil an egg or two, fry mushrooms
take burek out of the freezer
roll one, not too strong
put on a little piano 
postpone half a dozen messages
type words without a plan
see where they take us

Le man
can’t be arsed
Back into bed
to float on the waves of my breath
Għada jisbaħ ukoll
suppost
Tomorrow might be
another day


—

#wdv