THE MIRRORS WE SPOKE TO
Those years lost in our own skull
buying presents to suit ourselves.
Hearing the wind rattle a council letterbox
though we never felt our fringe move.
We walked together though with a different
map. I wore glasses behind my eyes
clamped my watch to my ankle
so I never felt time leave my life.
We said we knew what to say
though neither of us heard the wind
at the letterbox, or see the leaves
being brushed away for another year.
The mirrors in our homes grew bigger
every month until the house showed us
who we were. But today I must leave,
find sunlight that shows me who I’m not.
THE STREETS WE LIVE IN
When we were kids the streets
became veins in our bodies.
We felt each day rush through,
flick on the sunlight behind our eyes.
The ball rattled fence panels
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