Fri, 04 Aug 2023
| last modified Mon, 27 Oct 2025
poem feed (What is a feed?)
Today I became a taxi,
For a boy, I walked a span,
Him on my back with neon twigs,
And telling me of shapes and faces-
-time to refuel, my arms too tired...
Now we sit in midnight fields,
On a plastic bag and waving,
At the passing faces that march on and smile,
I boot up the engine,
Off to find his Mum I tread.
no previous poems written on this day.