There was a thick fog this evening and this happened.
I watch a thin young man in just a shirt box his own ear on the shutters near my work he walks off before I can/dare reach him and I cycle off avoiding the tram tracks in this all engulfing fog the kind I forgot can cloak a city and I rehearse what I wanted to say to him, ask where his friends where, tell him to go home and sleep it off, whatever it is drink, drugs, self-hate, a heady mix of all three, just stop that awful racket of flesh and metal, ask him to be careful when he crosses the road. I assume he has people who care and a home. And I wanted to say the fog has found me this year again and I don’t hit but I hurt too and flail and wake in the night rattling door handles and unplugging appliances from sockets fearing electrical fires in the night and my synapses torture me in dreams with such violence that my lucid mind jolts me from them as protection but I am still here and you deserve to be too even when the fog surrounds you inside and out. I am trying to love myself even as I resort to that decade old habit of sticking post its to my alarm clock because the fog keeps misting my thoughts taking the day’s plans from me in my hard worn sleep. I take the body I am trying to love, thanking my thighs for their speed tonight home through the fearful fog and thank the body for getting back on the bike after every fall and wrong turn, for taking me to the flat safe and thank the mind for feeling fear and still pedalling through it.