Suburban

You think I’m suburban

with my butter dish

and your forward shoes

*

Smiling too much

Talking air to your fire

My horizon close and grey

*

A teatowel ironed

to shine your creative windows

Reduxing my sub

with every schoolgirl grope for cred

*

Do I counter-think to defend my honour

and with spiky precision

poke out the risible

in your uber schtick

*

Or do I learn from you

and with stealth

paint my rainbow

in your colours

*

No need for either

*

The things for which I ache

live somewhere over it

in a place where

we both would meet

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Filed under London Mumbo, Mumbo Life, Mumbo poems, Uncategorized

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