The Mammal Blues

sometimes you go out of your mind
and it never lets you back in again,

pictures of the dead in living rooms
red roses crumbling into mantelpieces

clothes hanging themselves on door knobs
hats beheaded falling into witless baskets

books red in truth and cause drink the dripping tap
wall papers are old news to spider traps and moths

sometimes you go out of your mind
and it never lets you back in again,

so you find a tin can or a sea shell and climb in
the king of aluminium the master of barnacles

then roll into a comma dreaming of a full stop
or maybe just the touch of something mammal

throwing you a pound coin from an empty pocket.

John G. Hall

If you have any comments on this poem, John G. Hall  would be pleased to hear from you.