up on a ladder above ppl who iron
to keep occupied dust & residue of
a thousand items of clothing swirls
touching nasal passages with death
this is all nice as pie if only pie were
provided at morning tea & it stretches
into 1/2 hours & hours the motivation
hard to sustain getting off a chair like
climbing everest family heirlooms all
dotting the foothills sherpas nonplussed
have seen it all before we are even familiar
with the beligerent ‘what i am i supposed
to fucking do now?’ call that comes ever so
periodically from the next room & content
that the counsellor knows what she is doing
& i know what i am doing at the summit just
removing the death-grime rivulets & relaxing
in the opaque sparkle