Countdown to Zero

We are fragile sometimes

but now

we are as close to midnight as we’ve ever been.

We wake too late

falsely lulled by familiar sirens.

Three minutes and counting.

Counting all we hold dear.

Eton Mess

I’m trying not to tread on eggshells

while the tips of my toes bleed

and I forget

exactly what I’m trying to protect -

your feelings or my feet?

And then I recall

it wasn’t me who balanced all the eggs in one small basket

then smashed them all to smithereens

whilst flashing that sociopathic smile

and suggesting a recipe for pavlova.

It’s a bloody mess.

But I separate the yolks, the sharpened shards

and bind my feet

then use the glair

to stop the gold leaf sticking to my skin

while I fix this guilty heart.