Blaming The Weather

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Dragged Up

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 Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer

You grow up being blasted with freezing air daily
On walks to the video shop
Or through the poorly glazed window of a school bus
That strangely stinks of ham
Or in your hiding place behind the janitor's house
Where you wait out another break time

This permafrost existence forms a habit for life
And you learn to live stooped
Climate affects how we hold ourselves
How we hold ourselves affects everything else
Here, Valentine's Day is conducted
In icy, huddled silence

Funfairs require your body to be wrapped
In eight or nine layers of itchy woollen cladding
Which restricts your movement
To the point of uselessness

Your only option to stand quite still
And stare at the prizes you can't win
Transparent plastic eggs
Rotating in a Perspex box
As a grotesque 1970s mechanical chicken
Cackles for coins

A day out to Millport is spent
Necking scalding-hot tea too fast from a thermal flask
While an elderly couple eye you with suspicion
Through rain-spattered spectacles
Because they never did find out who stole that pen
From Tourist Information in 1993
They grew up cold too

You watch your own breath, in and out
One July there is a good day
And you watch every adult you know go mad in the sun.
An arid trash-strewn wasteland
Covered in the exploded remains
Of the drunken sunburned

Whose only crime was to overreach
For a little of the birth-right confidence
They were told to want
And whose messy failure to achieve it
Makes them crawl further into their shells

In your early twenties you twitch the curtains
Wondering if you really need to repeat
These ingrained mistakes
Or if years of slouched shivering
And hemming life in can possibly be unlearned

On television a talking dog
Chatters inanely in shades about a new type of biscuit
And you hate him because he's better than you
You switch off

Determined now to stop hiding away
To not give in to a life weighed down by thick blankets
And bits of old eiderdown
And a constant, inexplicable embarrassment

You squint closely into a handheld mirror
And can picture yourself as a presentable extra
Far in the background of a music video
You are still so young

You go down the stairs
Having to consciously drag
Your eyes up from the ground
Forcing your confused spine
Into charm-school posture for the first time

You try to swat away all the usual thoughts
Of whether you remembered to switch this or that off
Whether you're carrying your keys
Because of course you did and of course you are

Nothing touches you now
And you are stunned by the notion
That there are some people who feel this way all the time
Who expect no less

You turn the key, possessed
And walk out into the new life
The sun is shining
A child laughs
More laughter

You realise you are still dressed for bed
In decade-old phlegm-yellow
Sweat-stained long johns
That cling to your doomed, overgrown form
And bear the faded slogan
'COME TO MY PAJAMA PARTY'
In a cheerfully wretched font

A hairy toe sticks through a hole
You never got fixed
A gathering crowd of camera-clicks
And cruel, delighted shrieks reminds you
Why you should've been kept sealed
In your original container

You hurl yourself homewards
Through the front door
Which closes
For good

 Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer