Tuesday, September 5, 2023

Three Poems If Not Sent As Texts



Shhh, just my breath on your neck. That's what woke you. That and a touch of spittle.

*

In the dream we're seated at a giant table that revolves while the centrepiece stays put. With each revolution we grow further apart, until the centrepiece, your teenage daughter, receives my telepathic message and turns the table our way, leaving us side-by-side.

*

Your first day back at school.

Oh, no reason.


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