Don’t You Have A Job To Do?

"love is everything. love is everywhere. love is all around"

Credits:

Cypress Vine

and laundry machine’s on the brink again,

hot water’s gone again, boiler’s turned off again.

Still, there are incredible things happening

at dusk on Victoria Street. 

Hijabi girl swigging a coke bottle, spitting

it out at her brother in an astonishing arc

the old fellow hollering over the road to

his friend past the bar playing music til the

football’s all over.  I almost forgive

him enough for a text telling of it. 

This was his city first, after all.  Sun up

to eleven with flickers of light

at midnight even as June keeps raining the same

as October.  A miracle.  No.  An apology

for winter nights creeping deep into

your kneecaps and split them to pieces.  I’m thinking

of moving.  Career or a choice. 

Bristol or Birmingham, London.  It couldn’t

last long.  Fell for it again, found dirt

where I only sought pavement you’ll never

meet a girl who’s such a fool.  You’ll never

and cheap tea at midnight like dead adolescents

with cobblestones passing, or long stars at sea

and if I weren’t known here I’d be somewhere else waking

to dead eyes in darkness for bus journeys aching

in some kind of laughing, for somewhere to flee 

I can’t be the one who you’re asking to stay here

but I’m still the one who’ll ask you to wait here.

Unjust and I know it, you’ll pay when I flee.

Blame blood or blame blindness, it’s always the tale:

the floods will recede, I’ll be half up the trail,

and I’ll never notice what’s following me. 

Even this town won’t survive all my teething,

I’m scared to be left but I’m doing the leaving

let winds sing their hearts out, let swans carry me.

I’d wander each league ‘til my boots were outworn and

I love you to death, don’t ask me to turn homeward,