Moving The Skip

Im trying to sleep.

Wheezy chest; spunking phlegm

onto the pavement near my window.

I turn over.

‘I’m here mate’: he shouts.

SPLASH into the skip.

What splashes into a skip?

Pillow over face, left and right ears covered.

Edentate groans from your truck,

it’s gasping to hold the bite

outside my window.

They’re fighting with planks,

I can hear the hollow thuds: bloody childish.

Foetal position; duvet over head.

Yes, loudly load the skip at 7:30am,

CLANK.

Alright, I’m up.

© National Poetry Labs

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s