like a child leaning over the sink
to eat an apricot so as to not stain
the pretty Dengue fever-yellow dress
her mother had spent the night fixing,
so do you too often deny
yourself the simplest pleasures.
Fishing starts and ends with carp, he said
before putting out the stars one by one
with the end of his cigarette.
Once he runs out of patience, he'll throw
everything overboard before grabbing your arm
and telling you that if everyone had been crucified
then no one would be special and where would
that leave us?
When I am crowned King of all misunderstandings
we'll be able to break out of this routine, but
I am worried that they
(who, my father? Maybe my father) were right
and everyone is special so now no one can be.
In the early hours I think we hear
the foxes scream, although with all
this confusion, it may as well be me.
Thomas Dedola is an Italian poet based in Cambridge, UK. He has had pieces previously published in Felan, Fictive Dream, Nine Muses Poetry and Panoplyzine. He has also co-produced a haiku anthology which was longlisted for a Saboteur Award in 2017