Not Brexit Day
This was the day we were supposed to leave.
Like a toad who has had enough of the sun,
hopping off to the humid shade of a rock.
Instead the toad’s stuck in blazing heat,
letting the people who take control
kill it off with indecision.
Dehydrating on tarmac,
squashed by the passage of time.
Innards splayed in patterns of grit,
because no one could make a decision.
© Emma Woodford