Monday

A telephone call from the Doctor.
He wants to know why I haven't been to see him
and no he can’t come to me unless
I open the door.  The old one used
to leave medicine on the window sill,
this one has rules I think.  He's young
so he follows them.

Tuesday

The Vaseline smears on the window have faded
and now they’re not enough to obscure the truth.
Smoke and mirrors of inclement weather
need to be framed and hung.
I’ll have to buy more.
In preparation I disappear inside
my coat.  No-one sees me,
but now the cat is cold and
he'll need litter instead.

Wednesday

Made up faces are patronising me from
the South Bank, concerned to find me
hiding in cobwebs.  I beg them to stop.
They suggest I call this number and choose
A, B or C.  

Thursday

I find mould growing in the bath.
I water it down
and make finger paintings
of the people I used like.  
Sludgy green eyes and plug hole hair,
rust coloured cheeks.
I don’t remember enough but it suits them.

Friday

Sharp toothed children knock on my door.
They want their laughter back.  I tell them
I can’t do that, using the letterbox and
gingerly offering the tears I’ve collected.
My hand is slapped from underneath.
I’m drying out.

Saturday

I stay in bed today.
The floor is slipping away.

Sunday

I watch Songs Of Praise
and pray.  He'll get back to me tomorrow.