Fireproof

You are wondering now, how to leave
this anger behind, how to draw down
a safety curtain, fireproof, like
the monstrosity in that midlands 70's
theatre that groaned down in the interval
made a bank vault of the stage.
That's what you need now to separate
you from rage, so you can work
function, carry on.
The object of it, stubborn, is lying
in bed upstairs, duvet over head
no doubt hating you, anger fresh,
encouraged.

While you are down here at your desk
trying to manifest something
that will stop that roiling of the gut
getting through, that blood pressure
at the throat, pounding, dangerous
as a red flag. You make the wall fall
with your hands, breathe, let it go
recall how you always thought the actors
would be back there, safe behind
smoking fags and chatting
being their perfect selves
while you sat out in the stalls, tiny
pot of vanilla melting in your hand
waiting to be lied to again.