Encapsulated in a cloud of smoke
She coughs, splutters, releases the choke
Shouting down the garden; ‘it’s on fire, fire!’
My mother looks on with fathomless tire.

IN AN IMPATIENT WORLD FOR IMPATIENT WORLD OF IMPATIENT PEOPLE IN AN IMPATIENT PEOPLE FOR IMPATIENT PEOPLE OF IMPATIENT WORLD
ARE WE IN IT?
INNIT.

WHERE ARE WE IN THE WORLD?
ENGLAND? OR SPACE?
WE WILL NEVER KNOW

DEPENDING ON THE YEAR? THE MONTH? THE WEEK
A SMALL BIRD GETS HIT BY A CAR.
SQUEEK SQUEEK.