Today’s poem

GUILTY.

The pole from which I hang
is normally meant for the washing.

Today though, I am out to dry.

Swinging like a criminal
by the neck of my t-shirt.

It was my means of escape
that captured me:

Across Mr Gordon’s garden,
through the hedge,

over the shed roof,
with the crab apples,

down the washing pole
where I now hang.

First published in Cyphers, 1996
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Filed under Inspiration, Poetry, Writing

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