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

Anyway

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

But

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

Anyway

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.