Ghost Carol

They line the streets of Bristol,

Forgotten phantoms of crystal,

This for them is not a symbol, it is reality.

 

The red sun and yellow sky judged us in October.

The earth carried on, I don’t know why we couldn’t choose sober.

The winter kills, their fingers peel,

And we unwrap our presents.

If we spare a penny, it’ll make us feel like we have loved a peasant.

‘What an array of choice!’ we say, ‘Chicken, turkey or pheasant?’

‘in the bleak mid-winter’ they say, ‘my existence is effervescent’.

guilherme-stecanella-465088-unsplash.jpg
Leeza Awojobi