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The Funeral of Small Pleasures

A Petty, Post Pandemic, Pre-Apocalyptic Plea

By D. J. ReddallPublished 8 months ago Updated 8 months ago 1 min read

You can smell it in the grey afternoon

The slow disintegration of small joys

The feeling that the end is coming soon

Not of the world, or life, but of the toys

The little, half-remembered sports that make

The dull and draining daily ordeal sweet

Squeezed between plague and war, what will it take

To wrest their claws from my small, mundane treat?

Praise to Gaia, keep her safe and healthy

Halt pollution, arrest decadent waste;

But from the powerful and the wealthy

Demand a paper straw with strength and taste

I willingly surrender the before

Just please, make what remains make me want more

humor

About the Creator

D. J. Reddall

I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.

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Comments (3)

  • Hannah Moore8 months ago

    That last line is a killer. I love the poem but the ending is like a prayer for life.

  • Lol, this was amazing! I loved it!

  • Kendall Defoe 8 months ago

    This impresses...

D. J. ReddallWritten by D. J. Reddall

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