It was behind an abandoned windmill
In a timber out house
Beyond the tangled vines
I sank in sadness
My uncorked wine
slowly becomes my best friend
Our talks were long
and honest to the point of haunting the scene
”Ah but they just do not understand”
The now empty bottle just stares at me
I kick my silent accomplice
into many pieces
Only slightly denting
the old white wall in front of me
My ex friend settles
in a pile of broken glass
I view it
as if presented at the Modern Tate
It is symbolic
an artistic whisper I fail to truly understand
I am in no mood to interpret modern art
I look around
for something else to kick
© Copyright 2017 Philip H20s. All rights reserved.
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