Fidget enough, and I could squirrel safe
Inside the carcass of the tyre swing.
A cradle carapace.
Hours passed. Daylight would dwindle into dusk
And smudgy embers of sunshine perish.
Nothing to see, and nothing more to do.
Teatime calls: I can no longer delay.
Spring lamb platter; a sacrificial feast
For Gods and monsters, all.
It was not normal. I knew that by then.
‘Apropos of Nothing’ won the first place prize of our 2021 International Poetry Competition.
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