Apparently
it was one Friday night.
Went down clutching
a take away under
a blur of boots,
tattooed arms that
pistoned primary colours.
Red smothered,
masala making things
look worse.....better.
Fortnight in a coma,
before us at rehab;
a weight of careplans
and papers hopefully
squeezing out some
quality of life.
Sentences cut,
few words at a time,
soothing soft syllabled
and mushy as food.
Forced smiles and optimism
before home to 'see ya lata' notes,
nights of no sleeping
'til keys find the lock...............
Chris Major, Staffordshire, UK
1 comment:
I always like to find well written poetry that engages with the problems of today's society. Chris Major is a writer who can produce this kind of poetry very well.
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