Panic

It was a day or two before the smells came Silent moments of déjà vu In which the walls whitened in sympathy The tiles laughing their cracked guilt How did they find me here? Stowaways In bottles of surgical spirits Their cold indifference stifling They watched me from the bathroom cupboard Gripping this last vestige of panic Its clinical stench the smell of God I list the words for fear in lines of nines Our toothbrushes lying side by side