Back again my pretty creepy crawley
With school start and hair washed-
It doesn’t matter.
You discriminate not though many on your behalf do
They shout “You filth” and they do not mean you.
The psychosomatic impulse
The hand that reaches, scratches, passes back to point
The tendency engorged by fitful, fanciful, frantic
And back again to torment, Cos that is what you do.
The morning’s bus-stop-wait inspection
The routine, the chore imposed.
Each itch, each scratch, questioned
Queried, curious, cautious
And paranoid, yes paranoid,
The present you endow.
© TheHairyTeacher 2017