Lately, I have become more ratty.

My feelings have no badge of honour

attached. As awful as it sounds

I flung my own kindness away.

No sliding scale of happiness.

On paper we should have degrees;

from a husky late night conversation

all the way to a grope under a tree.

I have no plans to hatch. Measure me

and sieve out the unwanted. It is

green like untouched tripe, tripped

in the playground by your ankle.

Robert Harper

Poem 15: #NaPoWriMo 2022

(Wordle, Quordle & Octordle results from 15th April)