Today drags like a balloon made of metal,
I pace the house and announce that I’m boiling the kettle;
just to bloody do something.
The news is telling us we’re all going to die
and I wonder why
they just can’t take a day off today.
Today I can’t hear about death,
because I’m holding it together at best
and tomorrow is looming over like a cloud made of dust,
I ask dad again why we have to give him up.
He reminds me that it’s for the best
but his words sink down like the shell of a bullet.
All I want to do is punch the vet in the face.
All I want to do is hide Alf away.
The kettle rumbles to the boil,
but we drink wine to pass heavy time
and make dinner like the world hasn’t stopped.
My niece shouts at me for feeding the dog
ice cream under the table,
she says that it’s not good for his tummy,
I give him the whole bowl;
he wags his tail at me.
