Wishing away these shoestring years
The cold breath of winter gasping up through pencil-wide gaps in the floor
Breath like smoke puffs
While croaking heaters sit unplugged
Overgrown lawns and porridge for dinner
Budgets tighter than the waistband of my pre maternity jeans
Leaving angry red marks along all our happy places
Nowhere to call our own
Tired mouths growling in the dark about tax bills and the price of children’s shoes
Stretched pay checks that barely cover the groceries
All we’re really asking is
“Have we fucked all this up?”
Wishing away this youth
The sleep debt and the brain fog
These strawberry fingers, these shirts dipped in jam
In a cacophony of pre-dawn breakfasts
And 6 pm house arrest
A carousel of tight pegged clothes no bigger than my fore arm, pink leggings kicking in the wind
The parade of days all exactly the same
If only we could make it another week,
Another month,
Til next year
(Or is it the year after that?)
When our bank statements are filled and
The tiny fingers have grown
When hands are emptied to take hold of pencils and paintbrushes
Then will we spend the remainder of our lives staring into light spotted mirages
An album of frenzied, wished-away memories
Trying to close our arms around hot bodies that aren’t there anymore
Sweetly Unhappy People 