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The old fella When I was little your friends would say ‘By, he’s a chip off the ol’ block.’ I’d puff my chest out barrelled like yours proud to come from good stock. You raised me to know from young, old fella, exactly what proper graft meant. I felt from the roughness of your hands…
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I read the same book as you. I thought about smoothing out the corners of the pages you’d folded. Page 50. Condition: Lack of Courage Page 54. Condition: Dissatisfaction with Life Page 65. Condition: The Need for Moral Guidance But I realised you weren’t done with them. I folded another corner. Page 34. Poem: Everything…
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Shoot shoot he says without ever pulling the trigger Bomb bomb he says though can’t fly the plane Flee flee he says as he locks the door behind him More more he says when there’s nothing left
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Do you know how the more you stare at the clocktheslowertimegoeshe said. Do you think if we stared at the clocktogetherwe could stop time?And never have to grow up.
Gareth Hancock. Mostly, a writer. 