A group of my neighbours, past middle age,
Run every Tuesday, in the dead of night,
Like the wind to the end of their garden.
Rain, snow, hot, cold, they strip off and make love.
‘So what? It’s a free country,’ you might say,
Unless you know that most are Generals
Who don't want the place to remain that way.
Very incisive work, Stephen. I think you've sneaked this one under the 'culture war' barbed wire. Hits the mark like something from the 1930s. We may be living in those times again.
I am so glad you enjoyed it, Martin, and thanks to everyone else who liked this poem.
It's a bit of an oddball effort, but as I read it again, I am quite pleased with the element of menace at the end.
An intriguing poem Stephen.
If you wish to post a comment you must login.
This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Stephen Gospage
Wed 30th Jun 2021 17:12
Thanks for your kind comment, Greg. It's a scary thought and I certainly hope that those times don't return. I suppose that the military should stick to doing what their good at, although I'm not sure what that is exactly. Make love not war, perhaps, at least metaphorically speaking.