Eyes like empty saucers, distant
nebulae, enveloping darkness,
legs an emaciated string bean theory,
an abstract mathematical exorcism of mind and body;
x-rays the answer; this brain’s
a screed of scum on still impotable water.
And if my head hummed its hopeless
why then was that not surely to be expected?
So let him go, I thought.
Which was, I think, an undoubted understated blessing.
But what they said his shunt stopped working;
The parents are insistent.
Not if, but when,
can you get it working?