Twice fried Chips
It makes you hold hope a little tighterearly morning bubbles of conversation,
caffeine induced anxiety
and wi fi lines fluttering
like lost butterfly wings,
he's not in the café
and that bloody bag with a
dodgy strap isn't left
it guts spilling,
he phones me from
the University
where he is chasing
100000 genomes
and I can still
smell and feel the baby breath
it wasn't his wrong time or place
and in the afternoon sunshine
we talk about his studies
and how the chips are
fried twice
but the streets are quiet
and the coffee seller
has taken his wares home
The streets are silent
my son is safe
Poetry by Elle
Read 769 times
Written on 2016-03-22 at 18:17
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