When fleeing was it

by Simon Brown

Even to this
naked bungalow
                                                 you say bungalow
through red door                 fleeing
                                                 slowly
by protesting edge               and over
and small                               and falling with
speakers of red                     plastic
earnestly we mouth             bungalow
sharing you                           wall to wall for
no broth                                 on us to spill

and even through
hard glass                              you say hard glass
and cushioning the              soft broth of
soft loins and                        supping
you cushion                           broth and crumbs
and we are                             accustomed to this soft
of                                             no consequence

and even by soft brushes
                                                 you say soft brush
with vigour                            softly brushing off
to three bodies                      belonging
you brush
onto planes                            of broth
with no pace                          slowed
and with                                 no weight
this idea of                             fleeing

Simon Brown

Contributing Author

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When fleeing was it by Simon Brown is a Blasted Tree original poem

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