they had an orange grove of ambition
lime trees,
of citrus hope
backyard gardens burned in sweet smoke

we are just intense moments
found in other peoples lives
we are worker bees
connected to a hive

i have tried to see –
if there was a spark
or if we just kept warm in our beds

and like blind privileged gladiators –
they fight for a cause
but it is a cause that does not exist

you are a rag and bone man
a saviour of sorts
you are the lucky dip
that your parents once bought

it is in my bloodstream
life vibrancy
it ricochets around my life
but crowds feel like a collection of surgeons

i know now that every bump in the road
is a cry for help
and every breakdown
was due to a faulty belt

it’s the difficulty of accepting –
that,
it is the way it is
and what about me?

the happy go lucky sort –
talk about building resilience
i just think of trauma
and the weights added to my conscience

and does anxiety –
take away everything you wear?
your cupboards are unlocked –
but nutritionally bare