Mister

I don’t have the papers to travel to

the White Cliffs of Dover, but I imagine

it feels like the fog riding out at dawn.

My copper necklace

stays metallic even when misted.

I look for the statue of the local idol

who made this possible;

Maybe it has time to officiate a wedding between me

and the mist that’s gathered here today.

I want to be the groom it talks about the most,

especially to strangers that come from everywhere

to take pictures.

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Mister Poetry | Poetry