Common House Magazine

At times I want to shed my skin

like a viper in summer

to be a kid again in Trescore

with head stuck up in

cloud cuckoo land

sitting on a plastic chair

watching the adults in the room

adjacent haggle over

Doner Kebab machinery

I used to be so scrawny

the skin hung onto my skeleton

like a t-shirt on a cloth hanger

I was a toy warrior

with my water gun

charging windmills on kick-scooter

By God, our children selves

are such abominations of nature

and we look down at them

as war criminal wolves

eye innocent lambs

bleating in heavenly pastures

It is just not fair to latch

onto these milky-eyed hatchlings

the burdens of politics and despair

Take me back to a time when I shed tears

over skin shredded by falling off bikes

rather than over endless massacres.