Friday, 3 October 2025

OFFCUT POSEY No 32




now 
i am the man 
out in the garden
whos waving at all 
the planes sliding by

there they scratch pale stripes
in the stonewash sky
that grow - undulate

till it looks like 
fine beach sand looks
after the tides 

~

all the city airport
pilots know me 
i reckon / by now
& they radio each other

'hes got the blue
 hat on today, over'

or something like that









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