inspired by
Water (By Rob Auton)
Water is the smell of a
pint of orange cordial
Before you've added the
cordial
Similar in taste to the
broken pelvis of a melted snowman
The backbone of a
snowflake
The unsalted tear of a
poodle
The elbow of a puddle
Clear science that
allows me to live
No wonder that I get so
cross when I spill it
Cordial
Cordial, my Gran used
to call it that,
and lemonade, pop. It's
lemonade Gran
pop is a balloon gone
bad, rat-a-tat
tat, take that. Gran
would just turn and look sad.
We never made snowmen
together; old
I'm too old, and the
little buggers melt
puddle, no backbone
them, unless it's cold
what's the point?
She always said what she felt
played the cards dealt,
with a certain sadness
as if she'd spilt
something, science maybe
a little bit of life,
delicately
balanced, tip
triumphed, caught in the madness...
What have you got in
your socks? Nothing, just
I think I might have,
well I think I must...
OW
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