It seems I have been a little careless
with one of my internal organs.
I haven’t mislaid it or anything;
I didn’t leave it on the bus –
the one I always caught straight from work
to spend a few precious hours
‘playing away’ before returning home
to drown in domesticity.
If I’d left it on the number 27 to Barnes
it probably would have been picked up
and pocketed by the sleazy guy who always
sat opposite, sneaking sly glances
at my stockinged legs
over the top of his newspaper
or perhaps it would have been
into a shiny briefcase, to be sold
on the black market for a handsome price
by one of the sharp suited city boys
down on his luck.
No, instead, I gave it away without a thought –
piece by tiny precious piece;
little bloody scraps caught on
the thorny stems of roses
carried away by moonlight and melodies
until there was nothing left for me.
Funny, I always thought it would be
my liver that went first…