Poetry

Not quite midnight

He pisses in his boxers and ties them in a Sainsbury’s carrier
—one from before the 5p charge—flimsy. Thrown into the unmown,
amongst the unrust; slides and swings and things.
This time attempted asphyxiation was meant to keep the boxers quiet
its fly shut, hush. They wish it was their head in the bag.
A strange pumpkin looking thing hits the ground
and exhales for the first time since he walked in.
Looking for glass clues
finding them emptied.

Katie Rose Smart