Poem Hunter
23rd November
FJ ( / )

23rd November

Fish and chips on a Saturday whilst outside
The sky is slate blue-bruised and spatters
Raindrops onto the attic roof. Now the
Promise of them drifts lazily through my
Mind, the salt and the grease stains on the
Cheap paper and the fullness that leeches
In my throat when I’m done. But then again
Puddles squat outside the house and grip
To the curb, treacherously black and all
Upset with frost that hasn’t melted since
Thursday. I know as I slipped on it coming
Back last night; then too busy trying to
Judge if a particularly bright star were
Truly Venus or truly Mars; though needless
To say I could not settle on either way.

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Comments (1)

The title and the poem don't do each other justice.... perhaps you should rename it? Like the astonomical questioning.... the moon was full on Saturday and it was 24th (or was that deliberate?) which perhaps lit your way for this very fine write. HG: -) xx