I am not cool. I don’t have a cool accent, I don’t wear cool clothes, I don’t know how to order cool drinks at Starbucks and I don’t listen to cool music. If I ever decide to hop onto a trend-driven bandwagon, it’s usually not until long after it’s departed, around the time that it starts to disappear over the horizon. I love miming the high notes in The Tracks of My Tears (Smokey Robinson & The Miracles), and repeating the relentless rhymes of Best of All Possible Worlds (Kris Kristofferson). I bounce around the house to the staccato energy of Crocodile Rock (Elton John), and sway to the slow…
In honour of World Poetry Day (which was yesterday), and the suffocating fog of misery that I spent the past week trying to ignore (which has now finally, thankfully lifted), I wrote a poem. I promise this won’t be a regular thing – poetry is not my strong suit – but it is easy and quick and I’m still feeling a bit fragile, so this will get us over the hump to Friday.