Speaking To The Dead

Speaking to the Dead Are you listening, father? Why didn't you warn me life's short? Why didn't you tell me It's not alright to make mistakes Mistakes don't rub out, like sums Are you listening, mother? No I have not got big bones I'm fat with diabetes two to prove it And cleaning my plate didn't save one starving child I sit in my bedroom and walk around in my head I pluck out memories I play with them like a cat The world sits outside the door, quietly knocking After a while it give up, it leaves me alone If I let the world in, would it bite? Would it smear its filthy paws on my linen sheets? Would it pad around behind me, a third shadow? I see it has dropped its junk mail on the mat Why did nobody give me instructions on how to explore it?