Concept Creep

By | 16 August 2019

It’s not a reflection on you, climbing the stairs to happiness (what flights?),
trying to leave at the door the low-tops of ambivalent love.
Whose turn is it to shock absorb the ordinary once more?
Emotional labour slides in restaged or rug-stuck rites.
To hum at the grind, clock-work engine in grandstand traffic.
Assumed face of calm as compassion congests in the blood.
Red-corner smiles of encouragement, Marie-Antoinette comfort
for the over-casualised, infantilised offspring
of the stalled revolution. What goes unnoticed spreads to home,
a tirade of to-do ticks, outward well-wishing and the hug
of small invite returns. Evening vigils to dispel
uncertain terrors. Ghost-shopping for milk, discount
packets of human kindness pantried for the winter,
It’s not just about taking a leaf out of the book, more out of the gutter.
Roof over our heads, heads-up, everyone’s fine.
Maintenance is what holds the body or households together
Sticky-tape rebuilds, take-home projects of heart work.
The hold-all basket of “working families” still guillotine
feminism’s parallel lives and the cause beautiful.

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