Marta Owczarek - Cold Feet

Oblivious and firm
You call me your mother
I am like your child
Best friend, never lover

I jitter and spring to catch both your eyes
Blabbering news-nonsense-the day
But instead of praise, you blunt all my knives,
Look past me to see what lies next

It’s like we’ve divorced, you are my ex-wife,
I mention you w h e n e v e r I can
Slyly contrive to find out your plans
Without asking them to your face

In short,
I’m a floormat
With no more to squeeze
Misery, you don’t like that,
and tears.

I’ll leave soon, I’ll go
Ahead of the chance,
To rot in this house,
So you won’t have to ask

Won’t shut the front door
Stomp in puddles a lot;
Paint and memories
Smoke covers them black
They swirl downwards,
and pull
Our windows and roof

Don’t worry though,
Whenever you call,
I’ll give you my arm,
Looks good on your wall.