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Grab a coach home heroes,
sit amongst the somewhere men,
the here and there women
and the growing up fast kids,
with lantern phones, magic tones.
Everyone here is going somewhere,
winter’s bare
and home awaits.
Fantastic lips and red sense in style,
a lady reclines in front.
She texted Rhys, lengthy in characters,
whilst the plot remained precise.
‘I have to agree with you, let’s take it slow’
fantastic fingers itched her fringe.
Was she confused about love
and its rules and regs,
or was he a staller,
‘the old car won’t start again’ kinda feller?
There are no heroes on this coach tonight,
we’re Sheffield bound and
all without a fight.
© Tim Knight 2013
Tim is an 18 year old undergraduate student from Cambridge, UK. Writer of poetry, performer of poems, who likes soup. Leave your thoughts below.