We random two join the chosen four,
As six we stand side by side,
Two rows of three,
I wait in the middle on the right row,
The first two pull out the box,
They take the weight,
I hold the end of the box for a second,
I pass on the head of the box,
I share the weight,
We stand still for a moment and wait,
On the count of three gentlemen,
Lifted on six shoulders,
We turn in unison to face the entrance,
The sound fades and falls away,
A void stands in place,
We walk in step but I start to falter,
The box becomes weightless,
All I hear is my breathing.
YOU ARE READING
Soft Curses of Angels - Volume 3 - Vaudevillian
PoezieThe "journey to middle age" part of my chronological anthology of bad poetry. Estimated age at time of writing 24-28. I both thank and apologise to any soul who takes the time to read these.
