Today I feel like the torn off corner
of a chocolate block wrapper.
The ripped strip
that ends up on the floor
stuck to the bottom of your shoes
or under the cupboard door
swept up with other dust and cat hair.
The piece of shit the vacuum won’t pick up
and if it does, blocks the hose.
The ashtray full of late night butts
and thick yellow toenail clippings.
I shuffle around, disordered metre.
Open the wardrobe to look for
the black clothes I’ll need for the next three days.
There is no shortage of options.
Pull out the felt covered coat hanger for my ‘best blacks,’
the ones I’ll wear on the last day.
Close the wardrobe
Shuffle back to the lounge room
where the cats are curled up on the mattress
you were on when the ambulance arrived.
One has its head on your beanie
purring loudly, waiting for the usual pat.
He’ll be waiting a while…