Teenagers are taunting each other by the recycling bins
in the car park. They want gunfire, sirens and bloodshed.
They’ve seen it in the movies. They want sex, a car chase
and a drug deal. Meantime, in the more empirical reality
of the street, dog walkers mooch along, pets nose to tail,
sniffing out each other’s availability while the masked
queue outside the Co-op digests rumour like an anaconda
swallowing a goat.
We are living life one day at a time,
all plans abandoned and Xmas lurking on the horizon
while repeats wear a groove in the television screen
where politicians compete in Zoom bookshelf envy.
When the first bottle bursts on the road the boys run
for the park. Girls don’t do fast. Heads bent, in thrall
to the mobile, faces lit like saints. Pray. Pray for us all.
Al McClimens is a full-time dosser and serious drain on the economy. He reads a novel a week and writes a poem a day. And look where it’s got him. He will work for food and asks that you please give generously. His debut collection will be published by Pindrop Press next year.