Rings

I knew a man who had a face
like he was forever walking against the wind,
like he was always holding dog poo bags.
He had the face of someone perpetually stuck
in the middle of two sneezes.
The face of someone just waiting
for the Frisbee to hit the back of his head.
The kind of face you wish you chopped down
to read its rings when you had the chance.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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