Poem: Basic level

BASIC LEVEL

We well are meant to listen outside
for reassurance. Birdsong minor,
the swinging gate, Sinclair sonics 
from Chucky Egg, Manic Miner.
Its binary black/white murk breadth a game
multi-tasking pixels on this made lane.

Basic is the level to be enjoyed; nothing
more complex than a sprout on dry land. Avoiding
mud on sheets and gowns' ends the ploy for 
stalking wood tokens by hand. Strawberry-munching 
a reward for this trip. Behind black-blued
maskings, brief smiles on cold lips.

Published by Pat Mellow

Making fewer mistakes than Trump since 2016.

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