Black treacle,
a spoonful gums your mouth shut,
makes a mind opaque.
Raindrops disintegrate dully
against glass,
a tumble of thunder.
A car door is closed,
gurgle of key in lock,
inside - vacant spaces.
Somewhere a child is doing
all the things you haven’t done,
little gatherers,
gaining what you’ve never had,
or what fell out from your pockets
when you tried to run.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
Black treacle,
a spoonful gums your mouth shut,
makes a mind opaque.
Raindrops disintegrate dully
against glass,
a tumble of thunder.
A car door is closed,
gurgle of key in lock,
inside - vacant spaces.
Somewhere a child is doing
all the things you haven’t done,
little gatherers,
gaining what you’ve never had,
or what fell out from your pockets
when you tried to run.
Written: July 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. Feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
Request permission to use this poem