I was on the bomb site
off Arch Street
collecting pieces of wood
and newspaper

-******* in a ball-
and small pieces of coal
liberated from the coal wharf
near by

plus a few Swan Vestas
borrowed from
my old man's box at home
I lit a fire

near the railway arch
and Ingrid said
are you allowed
to do that?

not that I know
I said
what if a policeman
comes?

she asked
I'll just say
it was alight
when I came

and I was
keeping warm
I replied
but that's lying

she said
stretching the truth
a little
I said

she frowned at me
her bruised eye
was on the mend
and was just a slight

memory now
-her old man's
handiwork-
what if you get burnt?

she said
risk of the game
I said
I shouldn't be here

if my dad saw me here
I'd be for it
she said
you're always for it

I said
you've only got to look
at your old man
and he whacks you

I replied
not always
she said
looking away

he slippered you
the other week
for dropping
that bottle of milk

she said nothing
but looked across
the bomb site
at the passing buses

on the New Kent Road
I got out a small tin
and opened it
want a cigarette?

she peered at me
then at the tin
where'd you get those?
she said

I made them
I said
made them?
yes out of dog-ends

I picked up
from the gutters
and borrowing
cigarette papers

from an uncle
I made them up
she pulled a face
but they must have

other people's
spit on them
she said
but the papers

are fresh
I said
and besides
the burning tobacco

gets rid of that
she looked at me
and said
yuk

I put the tin away
and we watched
the fire burning
a Rozzer stopped me

on here the other week
and said to me
did I see you smoking?
I said

no I've not been smoking
I'd flicked the **** end
onto the bomb site
behind me

and he looked
at me suspiciously
and said
better not let me

catch you sonny boy
and he walked off
I'd have wet myself
she said

if a policeman
stopped me
we watched the fire burning
for a few more minutes

then we went across
the bomb site
to the chip-shop
to buy 6d of chips

and stood outside
and shared them
watching the small bomb fire
burning across the way

on that cold
November day.

Lydia
sat on the
red tiled door

step of the
ground floor flat
looking out

at the Square
one morning
one Sunday

her father
was in bed
her mother

preparing
Sunday lunch
listening

to music
on the old
radio

her 15
year old big
sister was

asleep with
her boyfriend
her brother

Hem was out
looking for
spiders

to pull off
their legs
one by one

the man with
his boxer
dog walked by

then she saw
Benedict
in tee shirt

and blue jeans
armed with his
6 shooters

in holsters
wearing a
cowboy hat

where abouts
you going?
She asked him

clean up Dodge
he replied
why? is it

***** then?
She called out
sitting there

in her green
flowered dress
Benedict

walked over
to where she
was sitting

you ok?
He asked her
pushing back

on his head
the black hat
no I'm bored

and fed up
she replied
come with me

we can both
clean up Dodge
Benedict

said to her
so where's Dodge?
She asked him

on the big
bomb site off
Meadow Row

can I have
one of your
6 shooters?

Sure you can
have to tell
my mum where

I'm going
Lydia said
Benedict

nodded his
head and said
best not to

mention Dodge
or she may
not let you

go with me
so she went
indoors and

asked her mum
where will you
be? she asked

we're going
to clean up
Dodge City

who are we?
Benedict
and just me

her mother
stared at her
o I see

mother said
be careful
of the roads

and that was
all she said
carrying

on with the
preparing
of the lunch

Lydia
went off with
Benedict

borrowing
one of his
6 shooters

tucked in the
green bow of
her green dress

her eyes bright
her straight hair
unbrushed

and
quite a mess.

Have you noticed,
That no one ever cares
About a bomb,
Till it explodes?

And when it does
People regret letting it live?

My heart is life bomb
With a count down timer
And it beats faster now
Reminding me my time is near

I wish that life wasn't so short
It had a lot of bad days yes
But with some good memories too

I see no paradise above
I don't think I'm on fire either
I only see the world
With no fairies in them

As my timer approaches zero
On this life bomb with no reset
I just lie back and wait
Waiting till I self destruct

i want to walk this bomb field
without hitting the bombs
no dog with me this time
to sniff them out

How many of you here counted
your last moment?
How many of you wondered if
your last breath breathed would be
the moment you would own it?

How many of you published words
as if it would be the last you write?
How many here read those words?
Hugging them long into the night?

How many of you tried to say
exactly what you feel, but failed?
How many times did you edited it
every single word, every line?
Just to post it so it was unveiled?

How many times did you refresh
the words that you have lied?
How many times have you typed
every tear that you have cried?

How many times did you say
I love you in a thousand letters
As many times as it takes you
to make the world seem better

Your poetry is as important
as the balm upon a soul
Your words caught upon a page
*are a literal bomb

words are thrown
the way a machine spews bullets
and stains passionate red,
unlike your parents forgotten love,
screaming only defeat, and that
you were for naught

punches are swung,
like bombs that arent made of fire,
leaving something much more permanent
than ash and tears,  
an impression of what they thought of you

ice cream is dropped,
at a party and on a dress,
as your face flushes with embarrassment,
and while people laugh,
finally understanding why
*you are not the favorite child

Love is the dissent of all logic,
fueling chaos so microscopic its
only as chemical as the atom bomb.