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Jo Barber Jun 2019
My body twists in reverse,
Each foot perched above me
In an arch on the couch.
A bottle of gin lies to the side,
And a book flutters open
To a dog-eared page of a poem
That’s often been reread.
My eyes droop
Under the weight
Of another day done.
The work is over,
The money is made,
But it must be made again

For now,
We sleep.
The eyes, as they look
No one gives the hoot
He was one last hope to last
But dead in brain
Soon his grave burnt in fears
Nothing could hold back her tears
A shiver
Clinched his hands
And the town was no more like the past
And a hero dies
As the town falls

— The End —