One Hundred and Ninety-Seven.


Izzy circle


the black rhinos have barricaded themselves into the top of a supermarket complex
the media reports ‘terrorised shoppers fleeing in fear for their lives’
a steady trickle of people walk slowly out of the supermarket, laden with plastic bags
they keep their eyes to the ground, weeping, and when they have passed the carpark concrete is wet with their tears.


Sarah circle


Walking down these cookie cutter streets, ankles dancing on the cobblestones
you looked up, breathless and moaned it’s just like a fairytale
and clutched me to your side like a princess who fit these candy-cake turrets
but I am no toilet-roll topper royalty, love, I am the child of wenches and of bastards
I saw this palace built with slavery and blood under the high-tipped noses of the rich
You cooed at the icing-coloured frontages of houses, and I dared you to lick their faces
to test their sweetness, to taste what the years of grime and piss had made them



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