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A little cream in my coffee would be nice if I still drank the tarry shit
It gives me a headache to think of it
But it never did a terrific job of keeping me up
Slapping my own cheek on the freeway trying to stay between the lines
It's exhausting
You think the kid is down but the bumps in the night suggest otherwise
She doesn't trouble my sleep
Same thing troubling hers
It's been a long life but we've seen longer
Some psychic from Bristol says it was a big hurt
On two sides of a rice paddy
Promising to return
While our own people did this to themselves
We weren't even fighting a war
Leastways not against anyone but ourselves
I promise
I promise
I'll return
And so will she
Even if not till the next life
My great aunt was a famine orphan
Suffered the blight
The workhouse
Then passage
To work for some carter who may have been kind or may have had a quick temper
And no love for Catholics
She troubles my dreams
And if I don't do something to heal her she'll trouble my kids
Troubleman
Don't expect peace
It's a sharp con
And we're all too thin-skinned

Title photo by Hosein Shirvani
https://unsplash.com/photos/JMsXVepu4S8