Will

days like these        
push themselves into my sleep space lately      
days where        
I finish the rounds, pick at my fingernails      
contemplate painting them      
       
the digger operator that I've known for three weeks      
recommended a dark purple, blue tint shine:      
the colour he wore when his nails were longer      
before his wife chopped them      
after railing him, again      
for wearing hot 6 inch heels        
in public      
       
he laid land        
planted the best of a million trees over 25 years      
cared for rhinos at a foreign zoo      
got married        
in a blue velvet suit    
never did a drug till his 40th birthday      
then swallowed the scrolls whole -      
tells me        
I should definitely try ecstasy      
but cocaine was disappointing      
       
he jumped naked off the pier        
into the loch last Sunday      
on a bet for a tenner        
didn't take the money      
and suggested we circulate        
around this small farmer's town      
that any of us willing      
should do a skinny dip for charity        
and I sort of regret      
my huge grudge against the freezing cold      
and my ever present consciousness      
of the politics of women      
       
but his thirst is contagious      
that search for the next thing to scare him shitless      
so he can take it over;      
and on days like these      
where my fingers are the only thing going      
I wonder if life will ever move        
for me