Worm - Poem by Ripper Jones
Walk a little.
Round the corner and up a bit
There it is
The strange round kerbstone
Alone and unplaqued
Along with the other curved stones
Fitting together like jelly molds
To make a small arch
And inbetween like an ink line
Where the compo is
Little arteries of moss
And earth conquered grey
Flowing across toward
The chequered hop-scotch pavement
The entry for the earth-churning
Home of the worms and ants
Children cut a worm in half
And both halves writhe
Writhe like a murderer on the noose
Trying to shake himself loose.
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