World War

That was a beer-warmed evening
underlined by an obese burger –
I avoided my return to the house
which echoed 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

Again – in Elizabeth Gardens
I was all alone
with my paper-wrapped chips
whilst varied kids wandered past –
So pissed off
followed by a lad who spits

And the ever-question hung –
Was I such a teenage-shit?
We all spat out many things –
The bin’s basket greeted me
into which I tossed
the greasy chip wrapper –
Nothing else smiled so much tonight



First Love

For NK

Ten minutes past five,
that date, to be etched:
The timing, pre-teen,

verging on adult,
told her he loved her
with a kiss and a grip;
his surfacing from under

where he’d long hid,
with his mumbled voice,
to be heard in this world,
above that white noise:

He sensed her missed beats,
and then brought her love,
his simple offering,
which was more than enough.