We spin our stories,
Like busy consumer spiders,
Sewing and stitching our
Bric-a-brac collection of things,
With meaning.
Like the unicorn mane pink
Cashmere Jumper,
Off the rack expensive season chic,
That you only wore once,
Never to don again,
On that blind date
With Derrick.
Who pretended
To have
An itchy inner nasal wall,
To dig out buggers,
Wiping them on
On the best by Victorian era
Restaurant table cloths.
YOU ARE READING
Scribblings
PoetryWords arranged in a funny order. Poems about my view of reality and how my inner fantasy world colours it with strange tinges. I love discussions about concepts and ideas so please feel free to comment. © 2018 Brian Lynch
