Saturday 17 February 2024

Poem (19): The hose


 The hose

And after all that, it was me that left the hose

on overnight. I only meant to water that

new honeysuckle, as an afterthought at dusk.

They had to cancel my book tour, of course, for one

mistake that flooded every town. Non grata now.

Destroyer of civilizations, they’re calling me,

just for one small, albeit significant, brain lapse.

The honeysuckle won’t survive this dry summer.

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