Just Another Human-Interest Story
So we were fucking, right? Or maybe
we’d just finished
draped about like Tristan and Isolde
twisted sheets
casual genitalia
London’s Calling faintly from the jukebox
outside the road sweeper’s staccato
burns an old familiar beat on sun-stained streets
beneath the throbbing undulation of a thousand solitary feet
voices echo up with
dust and cigarette smoke
talk of burning buses
whispered chaos
but we’re miles away from Aldgate
and all I can think about is one small alternative
the slender aching schism
of a myth defaced
replaced with some vague unarticulated fiction
still buses pass
petals of grey ash from the incinerator
swoop
dive
are lost in the traffic
Vicky Sharples lives by the sea with an enormous ginger cat. After many years in the pub trade, she’s now close to completing an English Literature and Creative Writing BA at the University of Kent. Find her on Twitter @vixta6