I woke up with half a dream still there
A poem of sorts, or a list at least
All the regrets I'd ever had
Like girls and that and well that time nearly that boy but not
Like I would go running more and try harder
And maybe then be picked for footy but probably not
And maybe getting off the bus or going down those stairs or going up north more
For a few beers.
I'm sure I could think of more
But knowing this stuff is no release
From the regrets. They're not bad
Really. Just things, not to dwell on, clearly. Broken toys, the lot
Of em. I shouldn't fixate on 'em, I would rather
Just say to myself that these TV-movie memories ain't
Interesting to many. The echoes of sounds long-blared, waves crashing ashore
That no-one else hears.
No comments:
Post a Comment