I still have my health. All's well at work
besides the paltry lunch breaks. But I'll live.
My lungs are both intact. And by some quirk
two roses survived. I make enough to give
to Oxfam, Red Cross and St John's. I sleep
most nights. I swallow without weeping now.
The sink is clean. My heart's not maggot-eaten.
The milk I drink is not yet past expiry.
Tuesday follows Monday. Someone died,
it's in the papers. Seven times I've beaten
Halo on the hardest setting -- how
exactly is recorded in my diary.
Putting one foot before the other, I keep
my balance. Paint dries. Today I haven't cried.
06 April 2004 13:02 hours