Pivot

 

 

Tarmac melts

rain bursts like

 

popcorn:

 

We are dried up

separated seeds

 

dispersed.

 

Land like stone

horse’s hooves

 

split

 

all hope drifts

lost in grey mornings.

 

‘Waiting’

becomes seven

 

syllables

tattooed in blood.

 

Hush descends,

school gates open

 

& all our sunburnt

children stream in

 

buttoned tight

for learning.

 

Late tomatoes

ripen on the stem

 

shelves burst

with them &

 

my words again

obsolete;

 

pen poised

for another dive

 

into darkness.

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