We lived to see our kitchens become unfashionable,
Stood in showers carefully checking our testicles and tits, For lumps While the furniture around us turned into the wallpaper From our parents' young photographs, Our memories became bigger Than our plans, Our Christmases were mostly In our pasts, We wheezed When we laughed But it never stopped us Laughing In our unfashionable kitchens.
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AuthorJohn Bleasdale is a writer. His work has appeared in The Guardian, The Independent, Il Manifesto, as well as CineVue.Com and theStudioExec.com. He has also written a number of plays, screenplays and novels. Archives
March 2019
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