I find I live in a lunch-box
And all I smell is plastic air I breathe my breath; in, out, over & over ‘Till I’m near ready to pass out- fall over But I don’t I still stand Standing still Slouched Standing slouched still In this lunch-box I sweat & breathe Pawing the curved plastic wall With my foot looking for a grip To lift me up, out & stand straight No slouch! But there’s no grip, I slip, Bang my head, then, still Stand, slouch, with what will I can Can’t scratch that itch Growing, knowing, that the growing is Going nowhere, growing into nothing So, sweat & breathe in this Lunch-box, like a growing old sandwich
2 Comments
Mo
2/20/2017 01:33:34 pm
Oh thanks Workman Lunch Box!!
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AuthorMy name is Maureen O' Connell but everyone calls me "Mo". I'm an Irish actress. I write and make films also. I am the author of all poetry and creative writing on this blog and the copyright of which is owned by me- unless otherwise stated. I've just graduated with a BA from the 3 year Acting Course at RADA, London. Have a gander round the website at your leisure! Cheers, Mo Archives
February 2021
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