Jailbreak. A poem by Trish Bennett

Feck this cocoon, I’m heading out,
the Mother declares over the phone.

When I ask where she’s going,
she replies, the chemist.

I suggest that If she wants
to risk her life,

she heads anywhere
but out for tablets.

Bring Olive or Ena to sing along
to their Choir of Ages CD.

Go out at full-blast
like Thelma and Louise,

speeding to the border
in the Yaris.


Servant to a menagerie of creatures, some human. Poet. Tells stories. Makes a show of herself. Beekeeper. Takes photies. Throws knives. http://trishbennettblog.wordpress.com/

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