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Poetry

Poetry is a Ping Pong Ball

By Penelope Gathercole

think of us here in your head before– 

no! don’t think! 

floating 

neither in front nor behind 

of your eyeballs? and already 

gone, too slow. 

why do they always have to go like that? 

just like that. 

not to think but to write. 

there, 

they are there. 

more wiggly than expected but certain nevertheless. 

an urgency, it is 

a frantic urgency. 

like a bird 

pecking at the same piece of corn 

but the force of the beak 

coming down 

propels the corn away and 

the bird must run 

after it and try again. 

nothing more humiliating 

than running 

after a ping pong ball. 

waddling, 

like a small child, arms outstretched, 

as it rolls and bounces 

further from you. 

we are all watching 

and waiting. 

an untimely titter, 

your turn. 

you’re my favourite yet. 

you tit. 

Featured Image – Darya Sannikova

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