No More Sweating In The Dark

Well it was a beautiful start, my plastic bed
and my parents whose skin was a canvas to
their pumping organs and how it shone grey
in places. And from then it was the wooden
road out to the sea, the people who sat on
that rickety promise, their narrow eyes when
peeking through the green floorboards. Then,
of course, the accident caught on camera, but
I don’t remember the community centre’s floor
being that yellow, or being led out to the stacks
of tyres. I remember it being dark in the daytime.
After that, I’ve tried to live right, run when I need
to run, chew my food properly and buy vegetables
from a man who can guess the weight of carrots.
Where I live we look out of the window and see
our neighbours bending low to look at their children.
Apart from that, I remain the same, but I remember
it being easier to cross bridges, it’s hard to see it all.