You got the jitters

You are scared of trains

buses

planes

ISIS

kids that kick bottles

the pimple on your foot

next week's deadlines

war

bankruptcy

mugging

the woman you sit next to

cats and dogs

the London Underground

failure

six-inch beards.

 

On Sundays something

Gnaws at your stomach.

And when you sleep

The pain gets worse.

 

So you eat more,

Laugh,

Make plans,

Sleep with people.

 

You buy a country cottage

Porsche Cayman

Cayman Islands

Apple Macs

Leather sofas

Conservatory

Swimming pool.

 

You ride horses,

Take up jogging,

Join aqua-aerobics.

You host dinner parties

Sink into sweet obliteration.

 

On Sunday evenings

Your gut wrenches;

It's being spooned out

Like a bottomless yoghurt.

 

You are scared of wrinkles,

Grey in your roots,

Yellow in your skin,

Veins on your legs,

Lard chunks on your booty.

 

You buy Bose everything,

something from Prada,

an advance iPhone 6s,

your favourite perfume,

a therapist for this

and guru for that.

 

You join a yoga class,

Buy parquet flooring,

An automated garage,

Nintendo Wii for the kids.

 

You're sick more often these days.

So you buy brand-new everything

And eat organic food.

You're scared of

AIDS

BSC

SARS

Anthrax

Old people

The wrong shampoo.

 

You take up the trampoline,

Learn origami,

Paint watercolours,

Get a life-counsellor.

 

On Sunday evening

You're sick in the bed.

You dreamt of a black

Pit where you walked

Without aim.

 

You heard a bat's flutter,

And a drip-drip-drip

that wouldn’t stop.

The ground rocked.

There was no way out.

 

Your knees shook

And you began to cry,

Because there was nothing.

There was no one.