This is like an online notebook, this stuff is not finished or often even started properly.

Scab Book.

I bust my knee slipping on a fence
So every morning I clean it wiping off the pus that might form a scab
And applying a new plaster
I lie in bed afterwards and read a crime novel
I’ve read it many times before
But I like the hard boiled phrases
And the hero has guts like I don’t have
It’s gradually turning into one of those books my dad had when I was a kid
The kind I always wanted with yellow pages fading in from sharp orange edges
The scab is forming whether I clean or not
The pus is going hard around the edges of the wound
I’ve never been good at doing things
Lying in bed with the froth from my beer coming out of my mouth.

No comments:

Post a Comment