Saturday, 9 November 2013

Blue Night

This indigo night,
the corrugated canopy
which overhangs
my courtyard garden
chevrons the yellow moon;

the same moon
you’re watching, brother,
so many miles away,
a day’s ride north
of Khartoum;

the same moon
that’s always
elsewhere,
waiting round the corner
like a great big kid

to tap you on the shoulder,
sidestep sharply
and titter for England
when you look
the wrong way.


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