Edward ian Armchair


PUNK POET
Edward ian Armchair

Kevin stretched and stretched to reach the windows ledge, his feet scraping up and down on the off-white pebble dash. He knew there was something in the living room, his parents had told him to stay outside for a while. He reached up, peering through the grimy net curtains, he could just make out a tiny black object running around the living room carpet. It was a black labrador puppy, a little ball of fur, all rubbery and excited. He jumped down and ran into the house shouting. His parents smiled that knowing smile.

But...before his parents could stop him, Kevin had lurched forward, grabbing hold of the fragile little creature. He twisted and twisted with all his might, breaking the labradors neck. He threw the sad, pitiful, bundle of fur on the floor and ran off skipping and giggling and shouting...“I wanted a poodle you bastards”.

Edward says...

Of course, only one half of the above memory is actually true. Once you've read the rest of my poetry I'll let you come to your own conclusion which half! This memory is one of my earliest and you'll find the rest of my work centres around a lifetime of memories, be they good, be they bad, they remain as clear as day. I hope you enjoy the words and images conveyed. Edward
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