Cutting Out

I step out to an evening’s aura
to West Park’s dark-cut recovery

of trim lawn-strimmed flora
now sliced to a fragrant enquiry

and I reply to a text’s posit:
Have they helped you
to a conclusion?

Which my stepdaughter
kneads and beats
in a knuckled-down confusion

I give her my finite answer
(as I do to each upset offspring)
I need to move out.. to be kind to

Then I thrashed my walking stick
amongst the white-sat flowers

and then I cracked it on the red bricks
of this house of sucked-off hours

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.