Beacons of Light, They Provide Guidance for Safe Passage

It’s all well and good
playing with metaphor, telling the lads
you, “Put a shift in!”
last night, only to cry

the following evening alone, as you
secretly turn your tears
into cackles, characters,
chants believing the surreal songs

you create, keep your pain
hidden—that you even need to; because

lad: your metaphors are easy to read.

“Whooooo’s the wanker in the black!”? I am.
I’m in the dark
drafting funny stories for you, flicking
my phone on and off

while you sleep. I then
continue to stick to the same narrative
in the morning
again: “Last night? On my phone?! Nah—not me… erm…

Babe! But maybe
your housemate snuck into bed with us: that would be boss!”

Or you might have dreamt of a lighthouse…? trying to be seen.