A Pig Of A Cliché Day

One of those days.
Do I need to tell you?
Like some invisible burden
to do with humanity or something
personal, imagined, no clue,
pressing down, tensing the back,
can barely walk a straight line,
face full of repressed anger
about what I don’t know,
then yawning with the weariness
of doing nothing
so how to deal with it
if you don’t know
who laid it on you
or why

opened the paper
almost too bored to do that,
read the story of how
he won the VC, top honour,
very rare
and what it’s been like since

reckoned if I can cry like this
something must be alright
somewhere

I’m OK now. You?

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!