Finishing It by Simon Armitage
I can't configure
a tablet
chiselled by God's finger
or forge
a scrawled prescription,
but here's an inscription, formed
on the small white dot
of its own
full stop,
the sugared pill
of a poem, one sentence
that speaks ill
of illness itself, bullet
with cancer's name
carved brazenly on it.
AIBU to say that husband was irresponsible?
Early reading v continental custom - teachers’ thoughts sought
Anyone heard Richard Tice’s anti climate change latest ?
