it was a toxic March and April flew away
as if it flaked
it fell on a wobbling grace
I’m not sure what to say about it
I can’t really tell but I’d like to know soon
it’s greener now
why do I rush to go home and why are my priorities so inclined
why don’t birds fly away when I walk near them anymore
I wonder if they can smell it on me
I ponder if they care and that entertains me for awhile
there are still puddles if you know where to look
and still paths with trees and weed
and all those plants that don’t get cut away in those places
they all grow rough and weaved like a thatched roof
when the path gets back to the houses it’s done I think
I’m going home now because people can see me again
I used to walk in the world
by itself
but there are houses now
and people can see me again
ABOUT
(Liam J.D McNicoll) I work as a welder in Falkirk, Scotland and detest every nanosecond of doing so, these poems are a brief and silly escape.
Moonbow Magazine 