Saturday, February 21, 2015

Town Bred.

I was raised in a town
where all the noses were the same,
had the same rounded tip,
the same comfortable squat
on very different faces.

Town bred,
country reared,
I wandered the early autumn
evening shadow in the company
and comfort of fallen leaves,
always acutely aware
of my worm fodder future.

When my tongue tied teenage years 
robbed me of innocent chatter,
I was gifted instead
with a river washed, gravel of words,
monkey gifted ideas,
and a witch's brew of confidence
and self doubt.

This, to my great surprise,
eventually led me to the discovery,
that my nose had the very same rounded tip, 
as all the others in Town.

© niall oconnor 2015


  1. The nose, knows. Fantastic poem Niall

  2. Noses are all the same, until one is put into the wrong place, then, with another's help, its shape in painfully changed and it achieves individuality.


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