from the start, till now, nervous
in Primary School, checking
if my nose was clean, in the half-hearted mirror
of the classroom window as we lined to go inside
and afraid, always afraid, of teachers, girls, my parents, girls
of blinding sunlight, of rain, of the dark
But now I’ve been handed, not an excuse
more an explanation; I’m Disordered, in a Bipolar Affective manner
—although it took my fourth shrink to spot it
when I was almost 56—so all those days of lying on couches
in bed, hiding, my innumerable escapes
two tossed-away careers, my murdered marriage; and, Erron
I wasn’t an “oblivion seeker”, more a “euphoria chaser”
chasing after the highs I have of greyhounds
exploding round a track inside my head, so
I’m apologising to everyone I’ve hurt—son, ex-wife
grand-daughter, friends, ex-friends, girlfriends, students
colleagues, parents, brother, sisters—the only way I have right now
by lowering my voice and changing the bloody subject