This day is ashamed of itself
and wishes to be done
in its defense it never asked to be born
anymore than the rest of us
who are lost within it -
drained and dazed in it's haste
staggering across concrete
staring into flickering screens
and the eventual falling apart of things
is the only payment that arrived on time
there is nothing left to save of it
so I have another beer at the Kings Head
and watch a woman slumped over a gin and tonic
her gaze blank into her phone
I walk towards the bartender for one more
as the air fills the spaces that my body has been
There is a quiet violence in life
I rather like it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem