Kari Pindoria
the colour yellow will die tomorrow
so we squeeze a yolk in the pan
for the last time, before breakfast
becomes silent. don’t lemons always
look the best in still life paintings?
how they carry the boldness
of a child on monkey bars
in the park. we will never get
another season of spring or
the simpsons and daisies will
hollow out in the middle
like an arranged marriage.
greta thunberg will blame it on
climate change, the old man in
spoons will blame it on clingfilm.
he’ll sit in the same pub corner,
drinking a pint of guinness,
except now he has white teeth
and you’ll believe him
Kari Pindoria is a poet and writer from North London. She often daydreams all day and drinks too much tea. Her poetry has been previously published in Ink, Sweat and Tears, Propel and Unbroken journal. She is a part of the 2022–23 Roundhouse Poetry Collective. You can find her on Twitter @karipindoria.
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