Groundhog

Tomorrow is not a new day;
it’s today replayed and replayed.

The night beats me,
so I bind my sores with TV,
maybe a bit of laundry,
make sure life is tidied away.

When I’m desperate I bash my
self with computer games until my senses are blunt.

By the time dusk bruises the sky,
I realize this patch has been rubbed to a blister.

Don’t think I don’t wonder why I must flounder
up the quagmire stairs in my nightmare.
I know I’m not waving –
how do you think I got here?


14/10/01