Lithium Rose 3

This drug she has to take
to make things better

it creeps through blood
to her mind
a fizzing sherbet tablet
trying to erase yesterday

but she resists
she will not let it bid

this lithium

and it's been like this for a while

sometimes i lose patience
drink a bit too much
sniff a pocket of cocaine
then fall asleep
with her memory

and the past

the rush of 1991

my girl running
in white linen
freckle proud
a sunny day
heatstroke passions

1991!

not that long ago

she was so beautiful then

but these days

well

i found her tonight
when I got home from work
amongst scattered music
and coloured vinyl
it was strewn across the carpet
echoes of party games
from the Pomagne era
where you had to stretch

'i'm looking for a Jam song'
'English Rose' she said
i knew where it was
as only I would
in my special box

its a butterfly of a song

she played it eight times
before I asked her to stop
she turned the volume down
and then clung to me tightly
she let go after a while
to make some tea
in her new confused kitchen

i went for a walk and a cigarette
some thinking time

that's where I am now

its cold

and its going to get colder

i could walk away from this

i will not

i cannot let her go
she is the best of all of us
a brilliant mind
that makes the heart beat
even now

let me explain

my girl is a prisoner of the horrific

seen more of it than most
she wants no prizes
like some

she was in Oregan
miles away

when the towers of bedlem
crushed another

she had to go south
to get out

she was with the dead of Pittsburgh
when they were laid to rest
amongst the brown leaves
of California

mothers brothers lovers
screaming with loss

she held their hands
laid their flowers
pulled their punches
until finally she was bruised
and counted out

to this lithium

its so hard

belief is everything
the doctor says

how ironic

but I do have faith
that she will come home

my red headed wonder

one day

to share chips on the night bus
to drink us all under the table again

to backchat the back chatters

to run with the hunted
give them shelter

catch all the falling stars
that know no better

to sort the poets from the parasites

the takers from the givers

for she is my English Rose
and I'll love her
more than this

yes she is so beautiful

always will be

I squash my cigarette
and open the door

she has turned the volume up