I could do one of those
A backwards written poem
But I can't be arsed

How am I supposed to know
If I'm not happy?
What's my guage, my understanding?
What is normal?
What is not?
I'm not really sure I know.

The tree's bows are burdened by the fruit.
Pulling itself over
With the sheer weight of abundance

Is this just stress?
An accumulation of life
The daily grind
Or does it go deeper?

The mattresses went up and down twice.
Once to be placed on the bed
The old ones removed downstairs
Via the bathroom to make space as the new ones came up

The the new ones went down
as the old ones came up
Via the bathroom to make space

They weren't right
Weren't comfy
Too fakey
I don't know
I don't understand

So we wait for the new mattresses to come
To be brought upstairs
Whilst the old ones get taken downstairs
Via the bathroom to make space

This thing, that not even she will sleep on
Wasn't right
So we will make it right

Her standards are so high
Things have to be right
To make it so perfect
To make it lovely

And she'll be right.
They will be right
They will be perfect

Me?
Idve kept the sodding things
Once the first mattress was in
I couldn't be arsed to do it all over again

But I'll drag em up and down and down and up
via the bathroom to make space and into the spare room
Wherever they need to go
Cos she's right
It'll be nice
it'll be perfect

Her standards for perfection are impeccable
So admirable
Things are nice when they're right

Me?
If it lands mainly flat and not too much in the way,  
Then that's fine by me
I'll step over it for the rest of my life rather than perfect its position

Her standards are so high
That an egg had to be just right
And sausages?
Where do we start on sausages?
Boston.
That's where we start on sausages
And end

Me?
How can someone with such high standards be with me?
For so long?
I'm no Boston sausage.
Hardly the perfect fried egg
I had a mild panic attack losing half the family whilst buying two mattresses, which came up and down twice
Via the bathroom to make space

I knew from that first crazy night
As we kaleidoscoped on a ride
As we talked and never left each others side
And all these years later, two thirds the life of a cat,
I can see her walk along in a hat
And I smile and see that wonderful being whose made me happy
Whose taught me to appreciate it being right.
To love the life we have

This life that we've made together
With two lives we've made together
Wouldn't be anywhere near perfect with just me
She's allowed me to grow, to morph, to be
And she's still the same beautiful person I met on a sofa all those years ago
The same person whose blossomed
And grown



Me?
Idve never bought the mattresses in the first place

The rain drained away the sorrow
Too distracted to concentrate by the enclosing darkness
Each raindrop water torturing the weight off my shoulders
Drenched and cold
Dripping and dank
But the days labour in the downpour
Was more desirable than the impending worry

It's been two weeks since you were all so concerned
I've become a talking point.
I'm a metaphor now.
I'm a political point.
I'm a poem on newsnight.
I'm an article to be shared.
You're still aware of me.
But you've moved on.
I'm just part of the general anger.
This political movement that I helped create.
I couldn't even bring down the government.

But I'm still smouldering.
Still hiding the bodies.
There's still posters up near me.
Faces that are probably unrecognisable now.
Lives destroyed.
Hearts broken.
Families destroyed.
Gaping aching holes.
In a few weeks only a small part of this world will remember me.
But for others I will never be forgotten.
I'm an inferno of a butterfly wing
A murderous sea change.