It's Still Life

Lampposts

Mum said babies should arrive
at night, they should cosy up
to the moon and stars, good
babies that is, but I was born
in the glaring sun, and became
a lamppost’s shadow.

I grew up asking too many
aching questions, headache
thumping what-if what-ifs,
and Mum insisted she hadn’t
licked me clean at birth, like
a newborn calf, or Bambi,

’cause back then, I was all legs,
back then when Mum was long
and thin and sinewy muscular.
She was sort of pencilure –
a hug was like cosying up
to a pillar. Or a lamppost.

Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.