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,


Alright, I’m up.

© National Poetry Labs


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