Was it that first time?
I cursed my brother –
fuck you you fucking…’
snowball in my eye
and mum’s left hand
flew out of her perfect
glove towards her lipstick’s
holy smear? Probably
it was then I knew
who i was. Or was it when
i said i love you
to a no-entry sign
on Lewishmam Way and
vomited over Abigail’s
new red shoes? I was more there
a bit reborn, cleansed.
One day, carried aloft
myself a distributed weight
atop six under-salaried
shoulders – then i’ll know
how much a voice weighs.