Strawberry Satellite

Because I don't want a white collar job, and I want you just once before we all die.

How quickly time works,
My sweet.

It starts with pebbles, kicking
around green t-shirts,
kissing the Sixties' haze of the sun.

It's pretty standard.
We've all chewed biro lids,
discarded them into pockets
or into drains.

Each lid you chew means something.
No really, I'm not kidding. It does.
Each molecular gash is a minute,

And there's more.
Each glistening ridge is an hour,
and every lid you've thrown away
is another life.

Time makes quick work of our pens.
He writes our futures with the ink-ghosts
under those wasted lids.

Honey, we're all getting older.
We're no longer stuck in the summer
and your soft clothes and eyes,

they say bye-bye. Bye-bye, forever.
I'll see you in Tescos
and the grey side of the copper hill.

Carpe diem, baby. Just once.

Reviews

[praying for help]

i am intrigued by this poem though i remain uncertain what it means or what you are hoping to express with these words. i suppose i am confused and drawn in all at once. and i am appreciating the sensation.

thanks for the ride!