I haven’t yet decided whether to write a poem a day for National Poetry Writing Month, but I thought I’d at least challenge myself to complete a quick piece on the first day. I’m a massive perfectionist and usually don’t share work online unless I’ve spent a decent while mulling over it, so maybe it’s good to step out of my comfort zone and post something which feels very rough.
If he were alive,
the giant tortoise would be dead.
I used to hug him so tight
his body would bulge at the sides,
and I think I sat on him once.
The birds definitely wouldn’t have made it.
I squeezed their soft bellies
to make them sing.
Only the snake could have survived.
All I ever did was wear him round my neck
like an extravagant scarf.
In fact, if the snake were real it would’ve been me who died.