I lie in bed until The World at One,
why should my heart go off with an alarm?
The body’s woman’s work is never done,
the blood gets up to exercise the lungs.
The kettle sings, I count my lucky charms –
a chain connects and separates each one
and when I shake my wrist it shakes the sun
that scatters off the wall and scalds my arm.
It’s only skin and coffee, no harm done.
War continues, voting has begun;
my left-hand thumb elects my right-hand palm.
We couldn’t all go on to be someone.
I have a little silver house to run,
a silver Scottie dog to keep me calm.
I don’t remember everything I’ve done
but bring me pencil, paper, chewing gum
and I will stay at home and do no harm,
imagining myself a world for one
where what I did was what I should have done.
Kate Bingham’s third collection, Infragreen, was published by Seren in 2015. A leaflet of new poems is forthcoming from Clutag Press.
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This article appears in the 24 Feb 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Boris Backlash