Six tiny stories that might be poems


My parents left me
a dirty ball To play with.
“Don’t worry”, they said,
“it’s good weather for sunbathing.”


The explosion blinded.
In all the protest
we could not see
the cost of living.

Cogito Uh-Oh Son

I saw my life on video.
Heard my words in stereo.
Read my thoughts in the local press.
Found true love in a novelette.


Between urge and deed
is a squashy grey thing
which misreads one
and misspells instructions


“Don’t worry, it’s all
in your mind,” you said.
Then went to see
your psychiatrist.


“Honesty is the best policy,”
she said.
“Madam, you are fat.”
She hit me.

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