Electric shock



Skin hanging like loose clothes.

I hold onto it, as protectively as I would hold onto a newborn baby

I forget all happiness I have ever felt


It’s funny how we don’t see a person

The human mind just can’t comprehend

that I have trodden another path

Words are useless

Imagine pain, tightness,

I haven’t cried for 50 years


So few people understood

And when they did they

Just walked along the river but on the other side

She did.  My sister-in-law.

She understood

Her signature disdain synonymous with war

In its intensity


She was a bright, acerbic stain

She got it.


The irony of her light,

The insult it cast on me


I can’t walk past a river any more,

Any river

Because once I saw a horse in the water,

Whose bladder kept it afloat


And that cascade of bodies,


As though someone had actually

thrown them in

As though a child had just dropped a

fistful of jelly babies

Written at an Anthony Owen workshop June 2015