Wreckage – Monday 7th March 2011

Wreckage

what a mess
drowning in drink
and not time to think
what kind of life is that
a relationship –
on a mortuary slab
no post mortem –
can determine
the cause the death
you recoil in horror
at his alcohol breath
and then, somehow –
out of the wreckage
you both make glue
but it is never true
how people salvage
is never new
and, there is me,
a scavenger, a vulture
perhaps i linger –
too long over the prey
well i spread these wings
and i fly away


There many more poems at
https://theboybehindtheglasses.com



James Garratt – Monday 7th March 2011