FROM MY DESK / JUSTIN HATCHETT
Without the shouting,
the engine noise,
the need to win every doorway,
what remains?
A man making porridge.
A man phoning his brother.
A man admitting the dog died
and it hurt more than expected.
No flashing lights.
No remote control.
Still functional.
Quieter, perhaps,
but finally safe
to hold.
the engine noise,
the need to win every doorway,
what remains?
A man making porridge.
A man phoning his brother.
A man admitting the dog died
and it hurt more than expected.
No flashing lights.
No remote control.
Still functional.
Quieter, perhaps,
but finally safe
to hold.
Justin Hatchett
From The Stars Were Mostly Side Effects.
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