I’ve got fear. In the belly.
In the eyes. The heart.
The doctor says ‘take this’.
So I do. I’ve got fear.
They are taking me to the courthouse
in 3 weeks’ time.
The doctor says, ‘Hold him still.’
The fear.
So I stay awake
with my friendly ghosts.
They’re concerned. ‘What’s
up with him’. ‘He’s got fear.’
The Head sends me a note.
Bring him in for six of the best.
In 3 weeks’ time
they’ll send me down
right down in the belly
with the fear. Can’t
eat; hot, pale. Mornings
roar up like fire.
6 policemen and a piece of grit.
Can’t play; play’s dead.
Can’t breath with the fear.
On Townsend Lane, the drum
marches Sunday home
past the courthouse
six at a time.
Fear is out of step
with dark and headlights.
Can’t live.
In the end, Two ten-bob fines,
and six of the best.
The fear remained,
connections loosed like bowels;
school? police?
only fear.