Here are the trees that they made
Long before you or I
what bones lay beneath them?
Beneath the branches that made the sky
Tangle
As the sun unwinds over 5 o’clock
I turn to you
Who do you want to be?
Well if you don’t know and the trees won’t tell me
I guess I’m fucked,
Tripping over roots
Many a well-to-do adult has been sure to remind me, finger wagging,
Young man, you can do anything, be anyone you want to (finger still wagging)
Work hard, believe in yourself
Brexit means Brexit!
Empty words, better kept for crowded rooms and empty people
I would rather a ladder – the sun is so low now I think I could reach it,
What shall I ask it?
You don’t know
Fancy that
Where to begin with the sun,
Good evening? Too formal
Why yellow? Poor humour
Perhaps I’ll ask who made the trees
Why they made them here
The shadows we skip between
in the cool embrace of evening
Who made the trees that made the shadows? And what does that mean for me?
I ask
Indignantly
It doesn’t know either
Fancy that
The feet we walk with cannot be our own,
What have we done with them?
Brexit Means Brexit
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