George Freek
Somewhere I Hear a Mockingbird
Three evenings, with long
afternoons and a way
of forgetting words,
which, perhaps,
shouldn’t be heard.
But the thoughts,
I remember those & a drink
called something pink.
At its bottom, tomorrow
stretched and curled
like a lazy cat, playing
on a purple afternoon,
but the shades were blue.
The roof pinged,
and when you
touched your ear-ring,
it suddenly rained.
The day was too long,
and there were
too many people there.
Something was always wrong.