Cross The Road – Words –

What is the nature
of the sour tongue
that winces
at the touch
of the light of the moon,
or winces at a strange rasp
at the ear
like a stiff towel
or of roughed envelope paper
across the ear.

What am I saying?
-I am not wanting to hear
or speak in low tones,
of whispered things
under my breath,
I don’t want anyone to hear
-but want to say

The drip of the tap,
the rustle of dry leaves,
speaks of things easily
of things I find hard to hear.
Stand then to one side,
by the side of the road,
and watch traffic and the world go by.

Or,

lift the elbow,
then the hand,
and raise my hood
that I may see the world,
and the world may see me.
Splashes of puddles
and rain,
my face yet glistens
and then my eyes.

Till I realise
my humanity is of the world
and a light in the world
and I wake up,
and cross the road.

Carl John Barber 2017 March


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