My Real Resume

I make and drink sloe gin
and walk my dogs, but only
when it's dry; when it rains
they turn back in and I watch
them wrestle on the furniture.

On hot weekends I think about 
the beach and disappoint myself; 
I'm not what I would like to be in 
garden centres, retail parks, or 
the musty darkness of a matinee.

Most days I avoid my friends; 
I can’t say why. I sit a lot and think 
too much. When words do come, 
I'm hardly ever writing, at my desk, 
by the window with the view.

I roll my own and smoke, a lot.
It’s something simple I can do 
while I remind myself, again, 
that I am slowly burning up inside;
It’s the proof that I am cooking.