The hills have masks

or at least that’s what I think dad said.

Walking the length of Warehouse Hill

you can see them over

the horizon: metal towers

with buttons of red lights

that we can see from everywhere.

We’ve got bags of

Chinese takeaway, and a free

bottle of pop because dad

told the lady it was my birthday.

I know I’ll remember this day

as long as I live,

as long as the masks follow

every journey I take.

poetry for schools

◄ Another Year


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Sun 29th Oct 2017 17:39

Hi David
A really nice read this. Love the last few lines in particular,

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Thu 6th Jul 2017 10:50

Delightful. The ambiguity is a real thought stretcher.

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