Simon Wilson
Nobody Has Real Ones These Days
One red fingernail. Just the one. Ruby red. Acrylic. Catches the morning sun, nestles between two paving slabs outside a pub as I drink my morning coffee. A story to be told. Someone, somewhere, woke with nine nails this morning.
crumpled sheets
—strand of a stranger's hair
on the pillow
About the Author
Simon Wilson has been a poultry farmer, salesman, antique dealer, gardener, and instructor on a Care Farm. He now works in a coin shop and wishes he had tried harder at school.