HEIST
The plans had a kind of droll humour, even the marks
on the chalk board had a fuck you Rocky Balboa countenance
that wouldn’t be amiss in a Stallone b-movie. They used
coloured chalk to add some spice with revisions confined
to a duster that needed more cleaning than a freelancer’s inbox.
Overalls were slung across the arm of a back alley sofa
whose cushions screamed a dicey I wouldn’t if anyone
tried to perch a single inch of buttock. Broken, blistered
and searching for their own truths, these individuals,
with the raucous and bawdy banter of ones we call
other, show us just how dully our days become when
we refuse to be drawn by our desires, steal ourselves away.
Robert Harper
Poem 26: #NaPoWriMo 2022
(Wordle, Quordle & Octordle results from 26th April)