My mother’s armoury

Wooden clogs do not fly gracefully:
there’s too much drag, which means they 
tumble through the air, losing
speed exponentially
to clatter the backs 
of closing doors
if you time 
it right.


Wet dishcloths, on the other hand
can take you by surprise.




 

Published by colinhopkirk

Poet, writer, artist. Writing and performing in England, publishing anywhere. Member of Hexameter performing poets. Workshops, projects, cross-arts collaborations.

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