Water Molecules
Each one is a little, spiky thing,
looking like something the police
might scatter on the road to burst the tyres
of a stolen car. They are in the exhaust
emitted by the car. They are in the exhaust
emitted every time you exhale.
They suffer from bipolarity and are
sick beyond treatment, unable even to admit
they have a problem.
This condition makes them stick to their neighbours,
faster than leeches,
faster than Triads, the Mafia:
faster than that chap you met at the freshers’ fair
who had seemed all right at first.
Seventy per cent of him was made of them.
They were trying to stick to you then, like they
are sticking together now, inside you,
in your blood, your bones, your brain.
If it weren’t for the insane grip
of these little tetrahedrons,
there’d have been no Pyramids,
no Hitler, no Internet, no mobile phones,
nothing carved into the Stanza Stones.
iamhyperlexic 