Cross
It’s stupid to argue about why I waste
food and why you spent your childhood
licking plates. Now I’m sulking in the bathroom
staring at rust on the radiator, listening
for your careful voice outside the door.
Everything in here orbits my ridiculous
mood: damp towels, that last scrap of
toilet paper I salvaged from the bin,
a small mirror smudged with cocaine.
I know that when I come out you will
look at me and I will try to stay angry
but laughter will play out of my mouth
and laughter will play out of your mouth
and we will dance to the beat of tongues
apologising at the same time; I know this,
I know this and I hold it for a little while
like a silver cross or our first scan picture
in this tiny bathroom, in this bastard town
on a Tuesday lunchtime threatening to rain.
*Bobby Parker's recent collection is Ghost Town Music (knives forks and spoons press), available from www.knivesforksandspoonspress.co.uk