Worried Blues by Ian Lewis Copestick

Brit Grit, Ian Copestick, Poetry

Worried Blues

I’m sitting here, alone
in my Mrs’ living room.
Sitting in the middle of
the floor, my head in
bits.
She’s in hospital, and I
just don’t know what to
do. I try to read, the words
bounce off my brain.
Making no impact at all.
It’s the same with T.V.
I’m lost, all alone, I’m not
normally the worrying type.
” If you can’t change it, then
what’s the point worrying
about it ? “
No, now I’m worried.
I’ve got those worried blues,
but I don’t have my guitar
to try to play those old,
familiar twelve bars.