Ant Smith

mortality poems

Far too many

Far too many
cigarettes,
stubbed out
in my face.
Far too many
insects,
flying about this place.
Far to many
spiders,
spinning in my head.

Far too many
hours spent,
inside this baking room.
Far too many
brain cells dead,
I’m in that zombie mood.

I got to get out.

Far too many
locks and bolts,
securing my front door.
Lost my keys,
I lost my keys,
I can’t get out no more.
I get down on
my hand and knees,
scrabble under chairs,
beneath a pile of maggots I,
find my hammer there.
The one I use to
crack the backs
of roaches on the wall,
I use it now
on the window pain
to get me out of hell.

I’m standing in the garden when
It begins to bloody rain

Far too many
dustbin lids,
playing in the street.
Far too many
bloody kids,
suffering in the heat.

Far too many
vehicles,
driving far too fast.
Far too many
earfuls,
as I’m walking past.

Far too many
domestic scenes,
of easy married grief.
Far too many
people on,
Far too many
streets.

Far too many
on this world,
as it spins around.
A lonely, cold and helpless
rock,
sinking without sound.
The whole entire universe
locked up in a box -
No wonder it’s so hot.

Help me, I’m melting.