By: Michael Pollentine
I didn’t steal the fucking cow.
Is what I wish I had said.
I was four years old.
I was gentle.
I was in shock.
Shock, that I was not allowed to state my case,
That my friend went and told
Ignoring my pleas
After I showed him the cow in the lunchtime grass.
‘You naughty boy’ she said snatching the cow.
The cow the girl across the road gave me.
It is only in the eyes of our own kind
That we are ever judged unequal.
I fixed a broken tap this morning
And felt glad.
Later in the evening
I felt sad.
I listened to some music
And felt neutral.
Music is beautiful.
As is running water.
The glass is never half full, or half empty.
It is either broken
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