Is it in that ulcer that recurs in my mouth?
That scaly patch on my right thigh?
Blood on the loo paper?

Is it in the swerve around angry brake lights?
The crushed metal womb?
Will I be removed as a stillborn?

Is it closer than tomorrow?
Will it end a dream?
Better still, a prayer?

Do I deserve a warning?
— Oh God don’t let it catch me by surprise
         let me say goodbye … and sorry