when the moon says it’s okay

I broke your heart you said. I’ve known a lot of broken hearts and some ended worse than others. A broken heart is a true thing. And it’s not just us. Animals die of broken hearts. Even frogs have personalities. My friend has two tree frogs and one is a real standoffish little bastard.

But to die of a broken heart seems such a sad affair. Like my mate, who had a bad night, and once he’d packed his skis, The Notebook for God’s sake, and a photo album of him looking good in flares for someone with red hair; tied a rope to the door handle of his bedroom. He had an ensuite with an exposed brick wall, and strung himself up like you see them do in the abattoirs to those cows with the big eyes, confused looks; yawing and fighting and struggling to get up and eat that grass. Only lying down when the desert sun slips under the edge and the moon says it’s okay.


First appeared in Windmills 2012



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