On and on

I’m urinating down a country lane
rocking your pram backwards and forwards
to keep you sleeping and it’s slow,
the time it takes for the hills to roll
across my eyes and the smell
of sheep negotiating the quick stream
and the sun hiding behind clouds
whispering to them to do something.
We zip up and walk
over a bridge towards the middle of our chest.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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