It’s a sonnet of suffering
inside my head.

You replaced the boredom
of an everyday melody,

broadcast a daily bulletin
of disparate emotions.

Then the cacophony of chaos
played out a performance.

Now the symptoms of you
mean misfortune for me.

I know there’s a blame to be had somewhere,
but you shouldn’t shout at me because they all died.

You shouldn’t have asked me to care for your houseplants.

You know I’m no good with instructions.

At least be grateful
you didn’t ask me to look after your ageing mother.

The day you left
garbage rotted,
eggshells cracked,
water polluted.

The day you came back
I saw a rainbow

I’ve noticed that despite his usual insistence on neatness, throughout the spring and early summer, my neighbour always mows around the patches of primroses, leaving squares of renegade grass surrounding the flowers. I guess he must like primroses.

I first noticed you like a fly,
through a haze of broken glass
which made you look
like a thousand different people.

a ray of light
then the
frantic collision
of unseen forces
in smoky sadness