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Greener Grass

written by: Ricky Hawthorne

@searsjames

 

My grandmother used to say that
Change is as good as a rest
But she was as inflexible as the

Itch on my hand that won’t go away
The stewardess brings me a drink and
Patronises me in two distinct ways

I drink it and the liquor eases the path
For the contrived sandwich that follows
It plummets, undigested, to a pit

In my stomach, defying removal
Until I eject it over the Hook of Holland
Later, the Captain announces that

The turbulence I am experiencing
Is only temporary, due to cloud cover
On our final approach to Manchester airport

When we land my irrational fear of flying
Subsides and is quickly supplanted by
The rational terror of the nearing terminal building

My hand still itches

Thank Christ for small mercies

Ricky Hawthorne

Ricky Hawthorne

MAY 2019 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
Short listed for the Bridport Poetry Prize 2015

Graduate of Warwick University
Triple honors in Literature, Theater and Film
Ricky Hawthorne

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