<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Miss Atomic Bomb<\/strong><\/p>\n Twelve men died on the thirteenth, Red bricks and razor wire, my love. We ate pickled peaches from jars By then it was already too late.<\/p>\n Tectonic shrugs wrong-footed me Choruses of TV bulletins played Agar plates smeared with sulphur and It was already too late.<\/p>\n Oblivious, really, to the weight of Crouched beneath an upturned table, Christopher, you sang above the I still don’t understand.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Miss Atomic Bomb Twelve men died on the thirteenth, fifteen on the fourteenth. I suppose that makes fifty four, all things considered. Red bricks and razor wire, my love. And grey dust that settles on our skin. February frost. Ice builds up on the inside. We ate pickled peaches from jars that night. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5542","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5542","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5542"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5542\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5543,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5542\/revisions\/5543"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5542"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5542"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5542"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nfifteen on the fourteenth. I suppose
\nthat makes fifty four, all things
\nconsidered.<\/p>\n
\nAnd grey dust that settles on our skin.
\nFebruary frost. Ice builds up on the
\ninside.<\/p>\n
\nthat night. Climbed onto the roof
\nand watched the sky, as every star
\nexploded.<\/p>\n
\nand the seas boiled. I guess your
\nparents were right this time, all things
\nconsidered.<\/p>\n
\nfast and loose with the truth that
\nday. But me? I am no God. No
\nhero.<\/p>\n
\nrain water yielded no cure. At least I
\ntried. But there was nothing to be
\ndone.<\/p>\n
\ncollapsing universes, I held my
\nbreath. You held your tongue. We
\nwaited.<\/p>\n
\nI watched you pack your cases. You
\ntook the confidence I gave you. Left the
\nring.<\/p>\n
\nsiren’s rise and fall. I’m doing this
\nfor both of us. One day you’ll thank
\nme.<\/p>\n
\nLeanne Moden<\/strong> is the Fenland Poet Laureate 2013. She is part of the 28 Sonnets Later poetry collective, and is currently writing her first full length live literature show. She blogs at www.tenyearstime.blogspot.co.uk <\/a>.\u00a0 twitter: @crimsonebolg<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"