05. The Unicorn

The Unicorn

It haunts me,
A ghost of an idea,
It laughs at me like the whinny of a horse
-just a horse-
ridden with fleas;
Scratches at my skin
With all the grace of an itchy woollen jumper
Handed down sister to sister then bought
from a charity shop;
It buts me with its head
And sounds out a rhythm with its hooves,
It plays on my mind like a keyboard
in a shop window –
one I cannot afford;
 
My forehead sweats
Popcorn misses my mouth
My only desire
To see the unicorn.
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