Filled with that distinctive
summer unease.
-
The time passing so slowly,
the suffocating heat.
-
A sweating haziness,
the sound when their tyres screeched
the kind of pains you learn but can’t teach.
-
The bleeding streets
peppered with a steady flow of debris,
a chilling breeze
-
the broken bodies
my pulse quickened by the sights
all around.
-
The reactor burst, my reaction hoarse
nights ruined by
the same vision of a hearse, my
reminder of that
generational curse
which I was told not to believe in
but can’t help but feel is real.
-
The water waving, lapping,
huge appetite, waiting,
my eyes wide, this is the game
we play, what we engage in,
crumbling bridges, my broken piano fingers,
-
no more art, no more art.
-
Now the animals are swollen with tumours
and we bury our loved ones below a thin lead lining
I spin in circles on my mechanic bicycle
trying to forget what I saw
pushing that anxiety away by day.
-
Instead it visits, tenfold, by night -
corrupted dreams -
mind tearing at the seams,
eyes shedding tears at
the sight of steel beams.
-
That metallic coffin,
the whirring body,
steaming chimney,
acid rain.
-
The ruins of a lifetime
mind pregnant with the toxins
it all crumbles or melts,
it all turns to dust
which I’m forced to inhale.
-
The infinite ash
slowly clogging up my lungs,
starving like a skinny dog
I can’t bring myself to eat.
-
Ravaged by my own hands,
my own thoughts,
my crooked, breaking frame.
-
Drowning in the brine
of their undefined and untried crimes,
my life decided by my class
pure chance but
they threw a deceptive
double-headed dime.
About the Creator
Reece Beckett
Poetry and cultural discussion (primarily regarding film!).
Author of Portrait of a City on Fire (2020, Impspired Press). Also on Medium and Substack, with writing featured… around…



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