Simon Bridges


Eight Till Twelve - Poem by Simon Bridges

I could see love with my ears closed whilst
watching a conversation one word in front,
opposite a young farmer orders a dirty pint,
I'd never met one,
later I found his constitution
spread across a tiled floor.

As the takings are unrolled to three metres,
déjà vu takes me to a time I had not trusted myself,
secretly, a twenty one milligram patch leaches the
drug of necessity into my breast,
and I favour my nails to pistachio,
and a nick in the waitress's tights
to channel nintey-six post watershed.


Comments about Eight Till Twelve by Simon Bridges

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Poem Edited: Wednesday, October 5, 2011


[Report Error]