I know
we’ll meet again
some sunny day

(or so they say, these times, being what they are)

and there’s this… apprehension
this tension…

and what if we do
on that

what do we do
(“what will you become” in just that voice)

do we… dance?
do we… slink about?
punch, or
then punch?

what do we become

when we come,




become… met again…

and is it sunshine

or just some fire,
on the wall
of that same old chestnut?


About Martin

I'm just... filling time.
This entry was posted in Poem, poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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