Zoo instinct says remain wrapped up,
In the anti-luxury of bed,
The view two watercolour frames,
A light switch and a lamp, instead
Of rising yet: a self-disgusting
Fixedness amid the sun-glow shard,
Suggesting summer calculates no loss,
Without one bard.

The radio is almost loud
Enough to gallop-whack the drum
Of interference: noting this
Brings sharpness to the mumblehum.
In basso unmistakeable
A former mayor, whose title legacy
Is bikes, says think of what you have to offer
To the country.

His speech is pitching for the open
Job of Tory party leader,
In generic terms. He fades,
A distant, wordless aria
Again, as summer flaunts a panel
Of unconcernedness to light the view.
Seven stanzas down, thoughts turn to feeding
At the zoo.

99:12

--

--

They don't want me to write. Banned from publishing at @JSLondon_

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James London

James London

They don't want me to write. Banned from publishing at @JSLondon_

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