Uncomfortable, I park the car, forcing a smile.
Distract the conversation from the reason we’re here.
Dead stalks of roses in storm fallen jars.
A wealth of new neighbours in misshapen grass.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here.
Why did we come here?

I can’t distance the image of what’s physically here,
And all that we are walking on and what’s underneath.
Read only the closest, read only the clear.
A life disregarded, three steps too far.

I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here.
Why did we come here?

So I visit you. Am I talking to you?
Do you hear me? Do you see me?
Do you feel me? Can you hear me?
I don’t know.