Another Pointless Poem About Gloom

This is probably where I should insert a cold draft

and stretch out a bit of undefinable darkness

on the stale sheets I should be looking for myself in,

the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat

which isn't there - not now at least - not when we're standing

where it should be curled, waiting for its cue to exit,

leaving me, myself and I with the dilemma of ourselves

on our cold, clammy hands that cannot tie shoelaces,

let alone unravel the seaman's knot in our stomachs.

But I've decided to forego all that for your benefit.

You surely didn't come here to mop up someone

else's gloom with a rag on your hands and knees,

although - admittedly - I am only assuming

you're not an idiot wishing away problems we all have

by pretending my coal mine is so much deeper and

the canary is belting bar upon bar within a toxic cloud

because - then - you'd be no brighter than me,

the person telling you all this nonsense, the bird brain

who taught Tweety down there how to carry a tune.