An eighth of a teaspoon
A fraction of you
When my grandfather was dyingHe kept asking to talk to Simon PeterEventually he couldn't say anything else at allJust kept…
We sit outside the doctors now,waiting our turn to be calledsitting on the low brick wallwatching traffic go slowly by
The permanent lines on her wrinkled face she harbouredOn her shoulder the loose threads flyWaiting for the ones gone from her lullabyTo the city…
We waved goodbye, as they walked out the door
I bought a spectral lampto highlight the ghostsof child labor blood stainingmy denim.