is just about the only thing that’ll settle him
the opening solo of ‘Smells Like Teen
Spirit’ having his little frame droop in my
arms as if inducing an ancestral reflection of
the berries piled high the day’s game still
warm on the floor of the encampment the us
the troop in our assembly at the signal of the
evening sun enjoying a sense of togetherness
a something we let go of long ago and now
only fleetingly recreated at football matches
or club nights here in the ennui in between
the most heinous of our species'
achievements and those that will displace
them I’m stood rocking wrap-ped up in my
juvenile’s fantasy my partner off out on the
hunt my baby now soundo for as long as this
nap lasts and I’m staring out of this fifth-
floor window at strangers traipsing home to
their places not even knowing I’m up here as
Bio: Jack Houston used to put on warehouse parties in London, but now works in his local library and writes poems. He took second prize in last year's Poetry London Competition. Recent work online at And Other Poems.
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