I have not been thinking
of certain things.
Like not watching the news
because dead babies
and brutalized animals
make me suicidal
or murderous – really.
Like poems I can’t write
because the genius
is not there.
About the sacrilegious wish
to write like someone else.
…or homeless people who
scare me back to the day
I became one of them,
to days of butts from the street,
money from strangers
more frightened than me.
…and then there is suicide – that
most personal of murders;
about being saved
because some women,
children and a dog
made room in a lifeboat…
well, that last part – I think of
them everyday, and always
remember to put flowers
on the dog’s grave.