He's the one legged
plastic footballer
that Time forgot
along with a pack
of Airman cigarettes
dried up shaft of wheat
dried up moth
some matches all played out
doomed never to catch fire
a smelly box candle
of Nag Champa &
a single 100mg Gabapentin
capsule
for a long-ago pain
rain on the shingles
the colour of his strip
worn away by fingertips
just able to…make out…he's a…No.6.
It takes 3 matches before
(used children's voices shouting: '...go on…go on...')
'...he must score! ')
The smelly candle
is lit
the single 100mg Gabapentin capsule
is taken for present pain
the same old one
come ‘round again
and a broken in two
pure Graphite 4B pencil
begins to scribble
this poem.
Rain on the shingles.
Rain on the shingles.
Rain on the shingles.
...still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem