Roundabout Ways
Multiple lanes act like multiple brains
twoing and froing
the left one not knowing where the right one’s going
Wide lanes come up the rear
creating a pen, holding breath
before escape is possible all things are impossible
Bear-hugging shut an exit
inside monster raging
in a hibernate status
its ritual hiatus
Of inside mashed potatoes
mixing with beans, afraid to fart
in case it starts clenching fists
squeezing ‘til it’s difficult to breathe
they tease and please each other
on the straight and narrow
Holding straight and narrow
Forming an arrow
Blood rushing ahead, fixing a target
to the centre
of excellence it’s certain
close the curtains
A roundabout weighs down
guilty as a blood-stained pillow
It’s coming
The roundabout’s coming.
Copyright © Mark Dugdale | Year Posted 2011
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