Thoughts Inside A Head Inside A Kennel Inside A Church

Thoughts Inside A Head Inside A Kennel Inside A Church

Thoughts Inside A Head Inside A Kennel Inside A Church

I had become increasingly suspicious of those around me
especially after an attempt was made to kidnap me
and two masked soldiers raided my house while I hid
in the grandfather clock. People noticed my language
was no longer that of the peacemaker of Europe. I’d become
addicted to my paramours story, I had specialist books out:
What My Paramour Thinks About So-called Liberal Reforms,
The Ninety-nine Sleeping Positions of My Paramour (with diagrams)
and Instructions My Paramour Feels Your Dog Would Obey.
I couldn’t smoke a cigarette without apologising to the walls.
So my friend set me up with sandwiches, a flask of sugary tea
and helped me build the kennel: “There is nothing more relaxed,
more tranquil, than to live alone in a kennel in a church.”
I had no more kidnapping scares or menacing phone calls.
No unmarked jeeps waiting in the street for me. I didn’t receive
a Valentine’s card saying “No one likes you, love from everyone.”
Although, I couldn’t stand up straight due to the low kennel roof
and living in a church was like living inside a lull in the wind.
I wondered why my friend had been quite so insistent
about fitting the car-clamp onto my left thigh, I’d run out of toffees
and what with no TV, no travel Scrabble, no rowing machine,
there was literally nothing to do but pray.