Apruptbly Brude

Child psychologist

revisionist

doing it on the cheap

hooked up to your computer

Only you know how

Down in the deep forest

How the animals scutter

And the parasols flutter

in the wind

I’m running out of words

For a racoon drinking

a cup of tea and nibbling

on a biscuit

Thief, liar, double

Alice bears down on me

In my hammock her hand

full of cockerel feathers

and a donut for me to eat

Ah love! Or is it bliss

A five year stint as mother

continues to thrive outdoors

Indoors is silent and wept

over like raindrops on a tin roof

pitter patter here, boisterous laughter there

something is abundant everywhere

but here the truth is…

Your balls are made of silicon

Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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