Estelle Pigot Poems

bubble, bubble, it's too subtle
slow burn with a grace that bear no trouble
where the rapture?
where the torture?
...

And so it goes: Pacific to Atlantic, pack a sweater, pack a panic
Pack a pic-a-nic basket
You don’ told it, he don’ asked it
Yeah, it goes: East coast, West coast, Holiday Inn (say whaaaat?)
...

without you everything is obsolete.
to pass each day becomes a monstrous feat
the colours fade from indigo to grey, gold to wheat
each step is uphill, against wind and sleet
...