By | 1 October 2020

The prime-minister’s words fill the air –
they hang over the bays, obscure the roads
to the little towns, drift
between the bridge’s cables. His words
turn the sunlight a dirty orange.
You need a breathing mask
to get through them.
We are longing for a big downpour
to wash the prime-minister’s words away.

Meanwhile, what he refuses to say
keeps burning.

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