Poetry Blog by T J K Conlin
grey joggers and a shabby top.
Pale faced with hair the colour of
caramel. What pose was this body
before being suddenly woken?
His thin frame is still pushing through.
Shivering; the hairs on his arms
anticipating the alarm of what is to come.
‘Sit down’, I said,
solemnly pointing with my head.
‘Your Mum needs to tell you something.
Best prepare you...
Thursday 13th February 2020 5:03 pm