In stuck-brain dry eyed tiredness
Dad’s got me covered. You too.
His real name isn’t Dad but he lets me call him that.
I’m paralysed. He is not. We trust.
Is working while I’m at work.
Two worlds under each other’s skin.
We too get under each other’s skin don’t we. You and me.
We wonder if all this is worth the trouble – by turns the itch, rub, scratch, salve.
But have no choice.
It is how we are brought about.
We pierce each other’s skin.
Hang our trinket trophies there.
We need repair. Some new sense of
Place, potential, freedom
To see bright gold among the scars
And live with it there.