Saturday, 20 July 2013


There are berries growing on the tree just by my window
in the front garden that is right on the street
old men and women seem to know what they are
I don't know what they are
old men and women seem to be taking them
I don't know how I feel about this
sometimes I mention the berries to people who I think might know what they are
sometimes people seem to think they know what the berries are
I offer them the mystery berries openly
I don't know how I feel about this
why do I offer the berries to these people
why do I mind others taking them freely
they are so excited
taking them brazenly or slyly
surely I should be used that someone is making use of the fucking things

why do I get a tiny pang like I'm being robbed
tiny berry theft
tiny unknown useless fruit

I suppose I am a hoarding, greedy; capitalist
sitting in the front room of a rented home
pinching my brief ownership
between my forefinger and thumb

In a few months I will move out
I will walk past this room
I might steal berries
with a pang of guilt
and a feeling of ownership
pinch it until it bleeds out its seeds