[I don’t want to give you the impression I’m depressed now – so I better let you know I wrote this 10 years ago.]
Ink
There is a black blob of ink on my paper
and no amount of dipping the pen
will tidy the stain.
There was an inkwell sunk into my desk
and I used to gather a load of liquid
to decorate the page.
As the tool for writing became a fountain
and I learned to collect my ammunition
leaks came and pus dribbled.
This pool is drawning me down into its depth
and I’m too heavy to float in filth.
I need a good clean.
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 