Two Poems


At night I dream of you
having a picnic with the moon,
as he grins his toothless grin
his face as hard and unwelcoming as it always was.

I wake up,
I am fourteen, and I am just a white speck
in a rum coloured sky.
Fourteen and as scared as you always wanted me to be.
Outside the wind laughs
lifting up the skirts of old
women with pink hats.

Paul Henry

If you have any comments on this poem, Paul Henry would be pleased to hear them.

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