It was a Tuesday or a Thursday or a Sunday
and I was 19 or seven or 31
and the room smelled of chips or pork or egg
and the wallpaper was blue or green or paint
and the weather was snow or wet or hot
and the car was a car or a boat or a car
and the night was a day or a morning or a lunch
and I was you or me or the moon
and there was music or birds or lightening
and it doesn’t matter because it happened
and nothing was real anymore.

© Carl Burkitt 2020