Morning

This poem was shortlisted in the 2013 Flamingofeather competition. It was then published in Orbis #170 and gained joint 3rd place in the Readers’ Award.


Morning

Why does he still bother with birdsong, sunrise?
What makes him cling on?
Feeling his stubble, stroking the sheets.

The day shift pull on their uniform. Radiators creak;
freesias are stretching in their vase.

Statistics confirm his best chance is at 4am;
the wolves’ hour. That black gap
between the platform and the train.

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