One Hundred and Sixty-Two.


Izzy circle


the constant rubber thuck of a basketball
the court caught in the centre of a grand old bandstand
amplified sounds of children on screaming swings, on see-saws
gibbous moon rising, clashing orange against electric blue

there’s a dog barking, equal measures panicked and joyous
like it’s searching for something and keeps thinking it’s found it

teenagers enacting a complicated ritual of unnameable affection
limpid arms flapping in the wind, necks angled taut toward each other
she walks to the sea, he turns back to the court
get your head in the game, get your head in the game

in the corner, an empty electric chair languishes beneath a tree
a crumpled man walking upright and tall, back and forth
back and forth on the support bars for hours


Sarah circle


He never knew til now that fire could bellow. Never knew how wet the water in him could feel. He watched a bead of sweat, or a tear, rattle down his nose and quiver for a moment at the brink. Throw itself onto the flat steel in his fist and slink out of sight. Coward, he thought, coward. Come back here and fight. There are a thousand more like you still to be carved out of these eyes.



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