#100repchallenge, poetry
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#006: the moon, the sun and the sky

I could have been someone.

Well, so could anyone.

Fairytale of New York by The Pogues

Will that realisation push you further into life

Or despair?

Perhaps that is the choice we need to make

Each morning when we pull our socks over our shins

Spit the acid toothpaste into the black metal ditch

Silence our troubles

Atone for our sins

Seated on a cushion

Or a park bench


It’s 5:43.


You look up and catch the moon returning the sky to the sun

Both linger a little awkwardly now after the divorce.

Moon says a final bye with a forehead kiss

That lasts thirty minutes

The adolescent Sky says “alright dad, I love you too. Now go.”

Trying to hide its blush from passing clouds.

And almost just like that

Disappears into the blue.

And you are there

Still on the park bench

Or was it cushion?

Wondering what to do with these hands you’re in

Or these feet clothed in socks up to your shins.

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