By Charlie Hill
And so, walking jumpily through the park where I had once played
drinking games with miscreants and unnamed Polish spirits – in joyous
violation of arcane mores and public health advice – before crawling off
to collapse into a nettle-blistered night under bedazzled stars, I see three
friends exchanging intimacies near a tree shedding blossom like a
cursed lure; and because I am altruistic and losing power and forgetful
and scared I wanted to bawl at them without quarter or regard, flecking
aerosols like a madman, Stop! Just stop! Stop rolling the dice!
Charlie Hill is a writer from Birmingham. His poetry has been published in various magazines in print and online including: Under the Radar, Prole and Dreich.