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Half past hindsight_edited.jpg


I put on my green hood last night,

found my old favourite glasses

in a clutter-draw at the bottom of my bed.

they’ve got vodka-orange frames, crisp-brown burned

like the corners of grandfather’s photographs

and the flecks of paint brush bristles

grown long down my cheeks and round my chin.

I made a call to an old favourite friend

but he said I had the wrong number;

I redialled it right and waited for the beep –

but I didn’t leave a message,

his profile picture was far too crowded

by teeth and tongues.

I looked out the window to find the time;

could only hear the rain

settling on the rusty pocket watch,

one slow-hand ticking round the faded face.

it must have been counting midnight-seconds.

I put on my old favourite glasses

and went to bed to wait for sunrise,

when the little grey-white rabbit

would finish his whiskey

and wander away contented

through the fence crack at the bottom of the garden.

Half past hindsight: News
Half past hindsight: Text
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