My nose fills with feathered dusty light in the shed
urine stench and squack, winged flurry,
yolk stained purple egg trays under the workbench
squat fridge beneath the hanging bulb,
each warm oval filched and nested for a moment
in my palm, miraculous and tan.
---
MAKE WAY FOR YOUR CHILDREN'S ERA!
Now it's eighty six and shoo
so what you were a lovely egg
you ain't no twenty six
you're old, you smell,
we have no time for ethos
we'll shoot you like the tsar
look at you your pants all wet
you cannot read small lettering
your emotions too, so much ado --
go in your sleep if we're in luck
don't come to live with us.
--
I should post a disclaimer with that one.
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