Killing Balloons

Tom McRae

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    ( Lyrics from a poem by Simon Armitage )

    The party's over
    Morning has yawned
    A nurofen Breakfast
    Ashtray thoughts
    Head on a cushen
    Breathe like a stone
    And three dead men
    Button their coats
    And they're gone

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    And i'm on my own
    Hands in my sleeves
    Here are balloons
    Bags of old breath
    Sad little lungs
    Small purses of light
    Sharpen a knife

    Remember the rabbit girl who drowned
    All that she left an inflatable moon
    Remember the boy breathing her in
    Day after day after day after the boat went down
    The show's over, the house lights are up
    Lipstick smushed on a plastic cup
    Tickets dropped on the stairs and the street
    Three black taxis circle the square and leave

    And i'm on my own
    Hands in my sleeves
    Here are balloons
    Bags of old breath
    Sad little lungs
    Small purses of light
    Sharpen a knife

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