Many thanks to Reuben for publishing this in I Am Not A Silent Poet
Neighbour’s lad gets a grin out of pot shots at birdlife in my garden. Thinks I can’t see him between slats of broken fence. Dead birds litter my lawn. I’ve told his mam, Alice who says he thinks he’s in Jurassic World to kill dinosaurs. I wish he weren’t so wick and could see these dinosaurs don’t bite. I’ll fetch him round to bury his dead, and have a quiet word.
My smile was a pink balloon
floated above me. I sang.
A big bang.
Blood on the balloon.
I find metal nuts and bolts.
I can’t sing. It isn’t real.
in uncut green glitter donned by chequered flat cap on black ant heads in shadow clock plastic skyscraper binding long days into century after century a vast bustled empire birth place embryo where money dramatised into kisses and betrayal and anguish among bright blades and discarded things.
Source: Kept Promises | Paul Brookes
Source: Post Factual Poem | Paul Brookes