Rough day

by Laban Cole

I am the highway pothole,
the scuff marks on the new.
I am burnt carbon exhaust, hanging in the air,
the gutter to nowhere, the helpful sign facing the wrong way.
I am the goldfish, in the fish bowl, in the emergency waiting room.
I am the face with the colour drained away,
the guard-rail on the sunken ship,
the debt of the elderly estate, the new torture, and the
regretted consent.

I am the pornography that you cannot believe is pornography:
I am heartburn - the spoiled milk, and the dog, and its mange.
I am a glue trap, the hangnail, and the loose thread.
I am the force applied to the child.

I am the false-bottomed moving box, and a miscellaneous stain.
I am the shirt hanging from the bone, the stranger's shoe on your heel.
I am a mouthful of roaches and nothing to report.
I am wet dust, a filthy window.

Yeah,
I am having a rough day.

Laban Cole is an Auckland-based writer and poet who has worked in various office jobs for nearly 20 years, after narrowly avoiding becoming a Christian pastor as a young adult. Combining a wry optimism with contemplative reflection and character confessionals, his primary medium is digital, utilizing Instagram carousels and giving occasional readings at Yellow Lamp in Mt Eden.