Red Card

The building site on the edge of Nottingham was mourning a great national tragedy. We were hungover as a result. My young arms ached from the weight of the plasterboard precariously balanced above my head. My Father, who held the other end, exhaled the sweet, stale odour of the night before into my nostrils, triggering my nausea. The screw I was attempting to fasten slipped to the floor followed by the plasterboard and then me as I attempted to stem the tide of pressure threatening to burst forth from my stomach.

Interruption

The pager beeped

It's scream rallying men of the town

Who dropped jobs, lovers,

babies (metaphorically I hope)

And the poems they were trying to write

High Temperatures and Suspicous Coughing

Is that? Ah no! A cough! I bury my head in the sand for a second. It’s nothing, it’s really not that bad

I’m fine. Just a splutter. Who will buy me vape-juice?

Jaws

The jaws of industry cranked and cracked and fractured the crust 

And churned  it’s nectar to soot and smog to satisfy our desire 

And war burnt carcasses while they still had breathe in their agonized virgin boyhood bodies