Polite English

[Verse 1]
The ILR form, section four, on the North Street kitchen table,
The biro ink is bleeding through a cheap and hopeful fable.
The waiting room is beige and hot, smells of damp wool and panic,
The weave of the carpet's worn so thin it's almost geologic.

[Chorus]
And this is the good stitch, the best I can do,
Mending the gaps between me and you, with my polite English.

[Verse 2]
The woman's watch is ticking off the minutes of my future,
She files a nail and doesn't look, a slow and silent suture.
I'm trying to unspool a smile I don't quite own this Tuesday,
While every knot inside my throat has got too much to say.

[Chorus]
And this is the good stitch, the best I can do,
Mending the gaps between me and you, with my polite English.

[Bridge]
My mother's voice, a tangled thread, "Będzie dobrze, synku."
You just hold the fabric straight, and let the needle run true.

[Outro]
The door clicks shut behind me now.
A seam that holds, somehow.