The plum

There’s fog for 20 metres from here From here to screen To midwinter For the chill to draw out this splinter If I could, I would. See? I’m restless But in a wrestle Can’t follow the weather Can’t stay in the metre

Choose your fighter carefully Or you’ll be a well-honed knife That’s in search of fear It was a path You laid out For yourself Well, I’m too old to lose a breast As I fight for respect In the name of a straighter shot