Thursday 9th November

THERE WAS A LUMBERJACK IN THE LIFT THIS MORNING:

A giant man,
Out of place,
Surrounded by chrome & mirrors,
Dropping forks & knives,
Fists in pockets,
In apology,
Reminds me of cousin Tim,
Who lived in a forest with his dogs,
And guns,
And mowing machines,
Generating power from an old marine diesel,
Concealed in a garden shed,
Where is he now?

I call the last phone number I have for him,
Every few months,
Like I know his mom would want,
He never answers,
She’s gone now,
I miss her,
Transformed into a magpie,

The lumberjack leaves the lift,
Head hung silent,
Heads for breakfast,
Everything tiny,
Stupid,
Doll-like,
Comparison to his frame & fists,
I want to apologise,
But don’t,
He doesn’t seem to mind

(K)

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