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Rich Tea

by simon lucan

we sit drinking coffee,

much is yet unspoken,

my cup looks cracked,

her biscuits all broken

 

the flat smells of damp,

split ends and oily hair,

scars bangle her wrists,

focus of my coy stare

 

by the hearth lies a cat

of a species I deplore,

yellow paint peels off

a lone bedroom door

 

on her neck a blemish

coated in stale powder,

all in all, a f...

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Sunday 11th April 2021 11:15 am

rich tea   broken biscuits   flat   neck   doubts   pity   damaged goods

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