Query any poem you want.

I went to the Premier shop

(the newsagents next to the library)

to buy some beers for this evening,

and as I put them on the counter

I felt the need to pretend

that there was something else

that I needed to buy.

A standard response to human interaction.

LIE.

LIE.

LIE.

So I looked through the magazines,

and the stationary,

and the toiletries -

pretending to be disappointed

when my imaginary product wasn’t there.

But something

dark and unexpected

caught my eye.

Packs of silver.

Slivers of escape.

“The best

a man

can get.”

A chance to leave.

An end to regret.

It’s lucky it was so sunny today.

Blood looks black in the moonlight.

In the light,

it seems

profane.

I don’t know why…