The moon is an exhausted firework
struggling to peel the duvet off
its skin every night to watch
people drinking hot chocolates
with lips desperate to talk
about the things they’ve done
and think, kids in wellies made
from the promise they can be
whatever they like. The bonfire is
too far away for the moon to feel
the warmth or hear the cackle of life.
The moon is too tired to explode.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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