He lay there silent,
head tipped back,
a look of surprise
fixed in his eyes.
On his head
two black spots lie
separated by a maw
that was not there before.
The line of scarlet
crossed his brow.
He’d not had time
to utter 'ow'.
I remembered then
an old adage;
“Do not remove a fly
from your friend’s forehead
with a hatchet.”
John Carré Buchanan
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2013
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January
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- My Dreams Are Of You - Aindre Reece-Sheerin
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