World War

That was a beer-warmed evening

underlined by an obese burger

I avoid my return to the house

which echoes to a party of kids
and the small dog’s commands

In the kebab shop they cooked

just for me

as the Turkish news feed rolled
and on my phone Syria choked


in Elizabeth Gardens

I am all alone

with my paper-wrapped chips
and a skulked fat black cat

whilst varied kids wander past

so pissed off with a nameless one

followed by a lad who spits
on to the well-fucked tarmac

And the ever-question hangs

Was I such a teenage-shit?

We all spat out many things

The bin’s basket welcomed me

That glossy plastic greeting
into which I tossed
the greasy chip wrapper

Nothing else smiles so much tonight

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