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Wrong by Raging Ferret

Raging Ferret | March 29th, 2018 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

Wrong

in the grey drab light of seven
a father pushes his child down the traffic bound road
three bags are carried each seemingly wrongly
speed defining how he shares the load
one drags along the ground
the other tries to bruise a hip
the last a rucksack over a shoulder
from an open zipper the contents drip
the child is half asleep arm lounging
having recently been rushed out of the new front door
the fathers breakfast untouched on the kitchen side
the child’s scattered across the floor
the father foregoes his breakfast
in his quest to be a commuting bore
the child commutes with no reason
always wondering which is their real front door

Poet Bio

Too old to be fashionable or hip, a face to excite wallpaper, real life stopping me doing this more often

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