That light drizzle appeared later
than anticipated. The outside yard,
where we were disciplined four times
this afternoon collects the rain like
a nest of barb-wire, it's silver thorns
puncturing each hour that passes.
That single bar, perfumed with stale
drinks, allows the space between
us to to widen; I only stand this close
to relieve the itch, which keeps our
hands and eyes dancing, but in
opposite directions.
The day draws it's curtains of
dust and stained wood, that block
out any chance of last minute light.
Your arms brush against this inertia,
held easy by your smile, as we drift
outwards, and stand in shallow puddles.
Jonathan Butcher is a poet based in Sheffield, England.
He has had poetry appear in various publications including:
The Rye Whiskey Review, Mad Swirl, Drunk Monkeys,
The Morning Star, Popshot and others. His third chapbook
'Corroded Gardens' was published by Fixator Press.
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