Tuesday, 22 December 2020

Impossible Poem

I said, ‘Impossible!’

Hearing the grandfather clock clapped.

‘Right, right,’ the house gecko said.

The milk turned silently sour,

the rice cooker lewdly hooted.


Words are plenty plenty

orphans: making riots inside my head.

Made of thin, brittle paper memories.

‘We will play, we will play,’

they said.


Now they are obliviously playing.

Come, grab this fresh pound

of poem.

Even if it’s impossible an order.

Even if it has wasted my day.

No comments:

Post a Comment