Harry

You are the oldest thing in this flat.
You’ve never not been my roommate.
My hometown, studytown, jobtown, worrytown hero.

You sit on top of the wardrobe these days.
Resting, but still on monster patrol.
Your insides remain rock hard,
your outer fluff a worn down thin skin.
Your eyes still shine when the right light hits them.

When things get dark and my pillow head
crashes through the hurdles of the day,
I melt back to my first hour on Earth
when Grandma lay you next to me.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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