Sunday 16 November 2014

NOVEMBER POETRY

Quentin

By Christopher McCarthy

      

There he is
on a bicycle.

Bad timing
up my nose.
Through walls

he and his
wife fought
long – hard.

Still, looks
shatter with
a grin / a firm
handshake.

She says she’ll
kill herself but
don’t believe it.
He’s Hughes of the 
Fox not fingernails.

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