"Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well I have... for the April rain has, and the mica on the side of a rock has." - Walt Whitman
Mica - a mineral. It glitters, like a crumb you want to pick up.
Books launch and reading held at The Poetry Society's Poetry Café 16 October 2017
On the parade to diagnosis,
turning through hooped scanners
and narrowing possibilities,
one idiot hope tagged along:
that I did have cancer,
that it was blood in the bowl
because if, after all the fuss,
it was only the beetroot I’d been eating,
the embarrassment could kill me.