Park
At night
in the dreary park
empty swings
the roundabout on well-
greased gimbal manages
to budge a little
I tread the slight bounce
of reconstituted tyre
at the slide’s base
rakish boys and girls
sip from a single bottle
spark up a cigarette
they will not get very high on that
vigorous the winter breeze bites
soft rattle of chain
the grass is black
the private mulch
thick inside my head
beginning to decompose
as the dog trots me
home.
Clive Donovan devotes himself full-time to poetry and has published in a wide variety of magazines including Acumen, Agenda, Fenland Poetry Journal, Ink Sweat and Tears, Poetry Salzburg Review, Prole, Sentinel Lit. Quarterly and Stand. He lives in Totnes, Devon, U.K. quite close to the river Dart. His debut collection, The Taste of Glass, is recently published by Cinnamon Press.