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The Pilgrim Complains

by Les Wicks

 

Rowed my way across a sea of appointments

only to take on water.

 

I did a search, my favourite tune

is no longer available.

 

Paid a wiser woman to prescribe for mindfulness

dosage not to be sneezed at

only to find a full mind is just nasal congestion.

 

At the demonstration

streets bubbling with indignation

so right we were puerile

the chant was simple

why did I forget the words?

 

Climbed a mountain

on TV, just like

I was really there.

 

Dug down into the garden,

disgruntled tubers reclodded,

gestured look up though the sky was full of worries.

 

My peace is a work in progress

my kids can have that on my grave.