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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Jan 2021
Old soaks and odd socks
Steeping myself in slumber
and
going to do a number on
a dream.
Wizards.
Waiting for a spell is like waiting for a bus
they always come in threes,
buses on the road
and spells on the branches of magic trees.
She's in the mirror watching me in the mirror
watching her in the mirror watching me,
it's a game we play
the first one to blink makes the tea.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
67/Here and now
(67/Here and now)
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