Things I think I remember from that room

Untouched bubble wrap begging to be popped,
the sun refusing to go down on the day,
your name in lights across a palm-sized screen,
a gap for a bum on the chipped window sill,
unusually forced conversation, silence,
the news, freezing cold magnolia walls, silence,
broken white blinds, a deflated football,
one beige curtain peppered with bullet holes,
a birds eye view of my dangling feet,
a discarded chicken wing shaped like a man,
seven empty pint-glasses lined up like headstones,
a carpet made from the quicksand
of unasked questions and a goodbye.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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