Away from the safety of my childhood home
Around the back of twitching curtains
Lay a strip of half-forgotten land
A back-garden-walled no-man’s land
Where bins, toppled,
Spewed their plastic intestines
Across a tarred and broken path.
Wild borders, long grass, nettles, weeds
Dead rats, dog crap, dark freedom
The place to dissect a long dead crow
Scoop shit on sticks and throw
Chalk a name, something profane, onto Mrs Walker’s wall
And darker still
A place to sip alcohol
Light a smoke, set fire to bins.