half asleep i carefully place
lemon slices on top of all the walls and sprinkle
tea tree oil around the door
i read it wards off
sadness
or cockroaches

my roommate complains of a familiar smell
and we discuss the insurgence of nostalgia
against the monarchy of the endless march of time

the way the what could have been gilts
the grass we walk through with guilt
towards happiness

i’m singing “off with the heads
of the things i can’t forget”
tiny feet in the passage whisper

“no one has crossed a meadow
& emerged with clean feet”

i remember cursing dew as a child
for dirtying my shoes as i walked to the car
and slowing me at the start
of races i was never going to win

out in the corridor i encounter the king who
doesn’t move as i raise my foot
only laughs and says

“a cockroach can survive a week
without its head
and a memory much longer”