Spinsters"Here's to the bachelors and the bowery bums,
and those who feel that they're the ones,
that are better off without a wife."
Here's to the bedridden and the bedsit-hermits.
Here's to the drummers and the night shifters,
the train-spotters and the royalists.
Here's to the empty bottle dwellers
and the agoraphobic nonsense poets.
Here's to the curtain twitchers, the obsessive cleaners,
The belligerent, the bankrupt,
the binge drinkers and the midnight snackers.
Here's to the drug-addled, dubstep dickhead next door.
Here's to the architects of meticulous shrines.
Here's to the collectors of clocks and shopping lists.
Here's to cats, and the crazies that keep them.
Here's to the angry letter writers.
Here's to the strangers, the stranger still and
here's to all the spinsters.
Don't Look For MeDon't Look For Me in the Usual Places
Don't look for me in the usual places.
I'm not inside the mottled teapot.
Don't riffle through your suitcase for me -
the toothbrush glass, the glasses case.
You won't find me beneath the kitchen sink,
inside the abandoned birdhouse
or the soot-licked coalscuttle.
Stop combing the wardrobe for a glimpse of me,
you will not find me on the stairs.
Don't tear through the pages of the library books,
or smash every glass case of the museum,
I won't be there.
Don't search for me in the static office blocks
or in the snow-spat cornfield, the pins-and-needles forest.
Don't wait for me at the shoreline,
or the rock pools or the catacomb arcades.
I'm not walking in the rain-slicked street
or riding the homesick, midnight train.
You will not find me amid the cold, echoic pews
or the old-age, unwilling playground swings.
Don't look out to sea for me.
Do not dig.
I will not be there.
I will not be in the aftermath,
or the end.