From the Archives...
Inspire
You wake me
and are distraught.
For on the early
morning dog walk
you’ve cut through the cemetery,
and as dawn broke
red as an itchy wound,
were accosted by
a spotty youth
with his penis in hand.
Some perv flashing
women in graveyards,
that’s sick.
Yet, as you sob
I find myself
secretly glad,
happily pondering titles,
linebreaks,
perhaps calling dawn an ‘itchy wound’ -
this can’t be 100 %
healthy either….....