Playing Field

Some things I remember
through the smell of parkland
the sound of children shouting
pleasure, perhaps, for observers
a powerpoint in past lives
to plug into
light a bulb in the shadows
warm locked-up flesh
conveyor belt
production line
not much
to keep a beat
a breath
kneel to pick up fallen petals
no reason
flip through free newspaper
sit on a bench in the train
knit, just to finish a row
step aside for the driven
the religious
everyone is not quite all there
you know it makes a lot of sense


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Prison Baby

They called in a midwife
to cover their backs
and then a nurse
I wasn't expected to live long

The pressure on my head and chest kept me weak
No one can explain why I survived

You learn, trick by trick, what works
How to walk upright
How to fly away



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