Side by side
lumbering.
A herd of wounded rhino
bent backed stick heavy.
Tottering towards termination.
Taken by Tesco trolley towards checkout.
What becomes of the broken hearted?
Alone.
Companion-less.
Worn on the wheel of life
devoid now of the man or woman
they never truly loved but miss all the same.
An empty basket.
No honey
No money
It’s not funny.
It’s life.
Ian Frederick Harris.
CONTACT ME.
A DISGUSTING F****ED UP POEM (on the state of our rivers).
Is that Turd I can see
Floating down the river?
Maybe a discarded tissue?
A lunchbox piece of liver?
There’s some toilet paper
Someone’s used condom
Brings back sexy memories
Of moments now long gone.
Like a magic sail past
All drifting out to sea
This time tomorrow morning
Where on earth will they be?
A snake-like bloodied bandage
A hospital repair
Isn’t that a toupee?
Someone’s lost their hair.
There.
A ripe banana
Plus selected fruit all vying to be seen.
And look…there’s your favourite colour
It is?
Isn’t it?
GREEN?
And see,
here come the animals
Some alive oh what amazing luck
Oh no, wait one sadly, tear-stained second
Isn’t that a rotting duck?
Now.
if you’re really lucky
You’ll spot a suicide
Floating along so gracefully
More balletic now they’ve died.
I’m sorry it ended like that for him
I’ve stopped to show respect.
I’ll wait for him to float on by
Before I go for my daily swim.
Ian Frederick Harris.
CONTACT ME.
