When your mind is made up
I can see the white wet-patches of PVA
Sticking together some decisions
strips of ego
and a few shiny pieces of doubt
until it dries and clarifies
then it gets hung on the wall
with your name on it
I think I sprained my ankle
jumping off the pedestal
landed on the left foot
on an angle
not
the right one
If you were a forensic expert
You could trace my journey home
through little bits of bile
Blessed day
Our homes are not being bombed
our parents may still be alive
And all that is news is the weather
Forgettable temperatures
No longer even reincarnated as tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapper