Monday 11 February 2013

The Tumble Poem

 
 
You had to break two of my ribs just to move my heart
But that is what the chest compressions require.
Your mouth on mine then you break my chest to pieces
I was in the hospital for weeks and out of kindness
You came to visit me. You saw the machine and the lines
Plugged into my veins, the red snake on the monitor
Proof of my heart, a broken heart, but it’s close enough
 
A box with sections keeping me sane
A nurse with charts declaring me lame
A doctor with hands pressing my neck
A couple of ribs stealing my breath
 
You gave me a heart attack but I was aware 
There are risks involved with any sport, I’m old
My knees don’t move like they used to and my eyes
Don’t see you no more. A song for you and it’s ruined my voice
It’s ruined my eyes and wasted my choice it’s the most
predictable story told in with the new out with the old.
 
You’re a cowboy without a horse or a gun or a reason
You’ve broken the law with murder,  theft, treason
You’re running now through windless deserts
Telling truths and stealing dreams
You left your horse with me, tethered
to an empty water trough by a tree
In an abandoned town with tumble weed
And whisky instead of water
 
 

 

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