Maybe TomorrowDon’t judge when you picture me with my feet up in a La-Z-Boy, nestled amongst fluffy cushions, my boy Elmo sprawled across my lap, furry snore. Instead, stop my latest sulk overthe time squandered since Covid moved in next door, dodgy back and lost worknow my own endless lockdown. Oh hell, where’s the chocolate?Continue reading “3 poems by Mike Madill”
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