Three More Days

Mike Watts is a poet and spoken word performer from Hull, Yorkshire. This poem is taken from his book Day and Night in the Damaged Goods Factory. Phil mined this gem of a lament, and he’s guest reading today.

Click the title of the poem to listen.


Alone for three weeks
In a bed that has
Crippled me,
Whose sheets have tormented
To the edge of 
Insanity
And tonight,
As bleak northern bursts
Pelt rain at my window,
Wanting nothing more
Than to feel
The warm plump
Of breasts
Soft at my back.

I am here
And she is 250 miles south
Of hands
That would peel
Her like fruit
If she were beside me now.

Heavy as I am,
Sleep touches briefly
And the need 
To piss
Is about to break it
Completely.

There is too much space.

I want
An entanglement of legs,
An arm locked
Around my chest,
I want to close my eyes
Until the point
Of an elbow
Digs a rib
And wakes me.

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