Sport 20: Autumn 1998
Illness and Relief
A curry roll and chips for tea.
It's morning now, and cold.
In 1986, the German Expressionists
came to the waterfront.
I bought the poster depicting
a jackal-headed creature
reared like a man on goatish legs,
The steroid's pianism taps my flesh.
I concluded long ago
that life was terrific, wonderful, sublime.
Having won a couple of million bucks,
who could feel otherwise?
I bathe in numinous joy.
I'm washed in it—truly.
And I've always known about
that contrary black will in the body,
that organ hidden in among the others
which sleeps or closes down…
and then begins to tick again, as now.
My innards twang and sluice.
I creak like a sailing-ship.