My words failed me today, like hands too bandaged to scratch an itch. Nothing bad has happened. Beyond the now-almost-normal but still fury-invoking dogma-led insanity of my government. And the damp. And the rain. And the food that is edible without being as tasty as it should have been. And an inability to be still.

I need a t-shirt that says:

So I’m not being rational.
What’s your point?

I decided to give my words one more chance to do their job and scratch my irrational existential itch and I came up with the poem. ‘Wants’ below.

Then I found ‘Downhearted’ by Ada Limón in het collection ‘Bright Dead Things’ and wished I’d written it but was glad at least to be able to read it. She knows what the heart wants and doesn’t care how impossible it is.

I’ll leave both poems here for you, in case you too have irrational wants.