The impossibility of it.

The impossibility of it.

I remember living in a room

So small

I could barely lie flat.

No mirror

Just a single bed

With an old chest of drawers.

The bathroom was at the end of a hall

Shared with strangers.

It had hair in the sink

A man’s,

Black and thick.

Too much

But rarely used it

Went to work stinking

Of sex and grease.

I washed in the bathroom

Dried off with paper towels

Worked as a draughtsman

Pretending I knew how to

Design schematics

And the mechanics of stress.

Overlooking the street

Where a famous singer

Turned up most days to

Woo his fair lady.

It was quite sweet

For a while

Until I got canned

For coming to work drunk

From the night before,

When I played the blues

In a dive bar with a free drink policy.

It compensated for slave wages.

I didn’t stay long

Moved in with a friend

To sleep on the floor of a college dorm.

Free food for residents.

Played new songs in the bar

They all thought I was a student

I studied too much for that.

Why did it take so long to realise

I was looking to hang my hat

In a place

With tasteful decor.

Who knows what might have happened

Had I seen your face

Perhaps I would have stuffed it up.

There are no easy solutions

To the mechanics of stress.

I blame it on the boogie,

It is impossible

To be human

Until we can dance

In a confined space

Without lights.