I had a dream.
A dream that moved me.
A dream about movement – about freedom.
The freedom to move; to be moving and maintaining;
maintaining one’s person in a public place:
peeling one’s toe nails in a business meeting;
picking one’s bogies whilst delivering a speech;
plucking one’s mole hairs in company with a neighbour on a bus;
passing wind in a queue for a Wimpy beanburger;
popping a spot when trying out a sofa in DFS;
poking a finger in a waxy ear;
picking, plucking and poking away at an impotent plan, until it loses its appeal, pops
and passes.
Pungent.
This day.
A country, pulled into itself,
pulled back out.
Righted.
Moving.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, January 15th, 2019
Inspired by a vote of against the British PM’s Brexit plan, and by the poem ‘Plan Upon Arrival’ by Saretta Morgan.
The Silly-Savvy Salopian in Suffolk: read, believe and write ... 