SURFBOARDS

I was feeling worried about my FAS daughter 
and went into a greenhouse to buy myself a plant 
(healthier than eating chocolates). I was feeling worried about 
whether or not this was an ectopic. 
I was feeling worried about her and wanted to look. 
I was feeling worried about it, and I asked my friend 
to give me a couple of days to think about it. 
I was feeling worried about my man's healing, 
in fact I was feeling darned anxious. I was feeling worried about the baby, 
Maggie suggested that some acupuncture might be a good idea 
to encourage labour. I was feeling worried about overstepping 
the client/therapist relationship, and I do get bothered 
about doing the wrong thing. I was feeling worried about the whole thing,
but now I've read up a bit about having twins 
and spoken to a few people about having twins. 
I was feeling worried about there can be mistake, 
am I doing perfectly, making everything informational 
and reading with expression? I was feeling worried about 
letting my guard down to a stranger.
I was feeling worried about her 'cause she didn't have
a whole lot of words until quite a bit later
than a lot of other tykes her age, but then she suddenly caught up
and with gusto. I was feeling worried about
my French dictee homework because for whatever reason
tonight I just cannot comprehend half the words
and then I looked up the grading in the syllabus
and homework only counts for 2%. I was feeling worried about
my future or isolated from my friends
I was feeling worried about the jogs. I was feeling worried about
having too many celebrations. I was feeling worried about them.
I was feeling worried about my sister, Finley, so Katy
let me surf the internet to find out how she was.

SPACE INVADERS

for SM

The docile turds that curl from under skirting boards

at night, then labour round the carpets and laminate

like ponderous, fecal figure skaters, are pernicious,

though they seem dumb. I catch them by the fridge,

investigating seals with probing stalk-eyes, hunting

weaknesses in pizza boxes left in slime's reach.
Aliens, that come from Mars to drain the juices

of your fruit and veg, may slither by your genitals

as you sleep. You will know they've been by morning,

when a semen slick is pooled around your thigh

Their vapour trails that start and end at nothing are a threat:

you never saw me coming and will never see me leave.

URBAN LEGEND

for SM

The only urban legend I believe
is that deadly spiders travel 
from the tropics in banana crates 
and are hiding under buckets 
in our cellar–head or shed 
to bite our fingers when we need
to mop the kitchen.

I have seen them, and their nit-like
bodies, pretending to be hands
in webs as wide as duvets
underneath the floorboards.
At night they come up
through the carpet like dragon's teeth
and scurry and creep up the walls
and in shoes. 
Our feet are afraid of death.

Nothing can kill them. They live
in my dreams and are covered
in neon stripes that say,
in flashes of yellow and red,
We are coming for you. We are coming
over continents in bunches
of bananas to murder you.