Hummingbirds and Rotting Cabbage


Like a hummingbird in a wasp’s nest,
this kid coughed into my mouth for
a day, I lost all my
you talk a load of bull
you will stay like
a dried out moth to a withered flame
too scared to make a move in case
the tiny flame should
nick the tip
of your crusty wing
you’ll never leave
you’ll die here

“no, I’m moving, I swear.”

“no you’re not, don’t lie.”

The sawdust
that blows through his
mind, weeping rough grains
they travel through
his rotting heart
his lungs full of
the shit that he
has breathed in the past
he snuffs improvement
the coward.

His eyes a swirling sea of
poison, glimmering in
the light of dusk
he sits slumped like a
sack of rotting


A poem by Sophia Moseley.
She says, “While working on a small publication of new writings, this poem was written in between a shift at work – when I was particularly tired and irritable…” 


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