Here's a short bit of poetry I wrote ten years ago, to tide you over while I continue with the book.
I'm afraid I cannot work today.
My luck is just so bad.
If I were to get in a car,
it would be a wreck.
If I were to get in a boat,
I'm afraid it would sink.
Were I to patch masonry,
I'd become cemented to the wall.
Were I to fix a window,
my body would fall through the flimsy pane.
That's what your love has done to me.