'I'M Fine, Really' Poem by Pauline Fayne

It is a day when
the arcaeologists of the soul
bruise you with their questions
and you take to early morning drinking,
postpone possible public tears
by walking out and away
to where leaf- green space
may give you leave to weep

but when finally you find
that lush receiving grass,
no depth of need
can release you
for suddenly theyare here
avoiding your eye
tribes of hung-over, lovelorn and homesick
searching for somewhere safe to cry.