4 Jan 2014

The illusion of security

I lay my neck back
Awkwardly and as comfortably as the upright sides of
The tub would allow
Almost five years
And I have not had a handful of use out of this
Goddamn thing

I lay the hot flannel across my face
Breathed the steam in with closed eyes 
And soaked my old bones
The door goes
As it always does when you’re in the bath
And I call out for her to answer it

I hear formal chit chat
Feel the cold air up my back from the hall
And under the bathroom door
That doesn’t close properly since I fixed it

After the click I find out it was a (nice) police lady
Explaining that the neighbour had a break in over Christmas
And we should check the window locks and all that
We have very little but what we do have
To quote a great man
Is gold
To me at least

I’m barely a Buddhist about it
            I sometimes think the Buddhists are scared of life entirely
Scared of experience and just plain living
And that their relinquishing of material goods just
Eases the transition into being a spiritual hobo

We check the locks and know we need more
Go through the motions that the world requires of you
Whenever you need to ask someone above you for things
That should in any polite society
Be offered freely in the first instance

And I sit and pour one
And then two
And think shit
I know I’m not exactly Christian about it
These people come back home at Christmas
And some motherfucker has been in there going through
God knows what
All to make some quick cash
Christmas time – right

And I think there seems to be some justification if
Something happens to you on the street
Out there in the concrete and neon wild
Fish gotta swim birds gotta eat

But even among the underworld there should be
Some kind of ruling on a home
The other side of that being
If you caught them in there – well

And so now most of our stuff is locked away
And there is no fear really
None that wasn’t there already
Fear for us and fear for our child
That the big bad world has no soul
No conscience or memory

It is a new year and here we are
Leaving no footprints
No marks on the walls
Still just passing through it all
And yet

With every passing day I feel something
Like a warm light on the back of my skull
Maybe it’s the sun telling me to
Never mind my bullshit
And to not forget that
It still comes up every day.