He put a crimp in my day

He put a crimp in my day

It all came as rather a shock,
he opened my door and threw it in like a grenade.
I held out hope for it to keep its eyes closed like a new baby,

but it opened its welt mouth
and screamed and screamed
and screamed for feeding.

Now I'm wrapped in blankets
on the phone to my mother
trying to figure out if it can

stomach other sorts of food,
because the nub bits of my thumb pads,
my small intestine and that small

soft stupid part, have no sense left.
It's like one of those TV series
where teenagers get given a doll

that cries each time its left lying down,
an exercise in how to love properly.
I am developing a trick, the crimp likes

the lull of my mobile,
the sick needs my friends repeat
like 'cant you see this might be hurting me.'

The crimp however,
might grow and toddling
slip and blink in the eye of Christmas.

I see me stuck staring
at balled up wrapping paper
in the corner of the kitchen bin,

too tired to find the iron
and make things straight again.
The crimp makes my hair

spit pins at strangers in the street,
makes its way to my post before me
and licks all the love off the end of the letters.

I write songs to keep the crimp
sleeping, tell it lies like
crinkle cut keeps the flavour in.