Multiplastic

I don’t have a poem today, no profound thoughts have come my way. I haven’t got a thing to say and nothing happened, anyway. I might have mentioned the bright blue dust spread across the road like candy floss from a flowering ceanothus, but that didn’t really feel like enough. I could have ranted about political things, about how fascism seems to be growing wings and all of the hatred and fear that it brings, but that’s a song I just don’t want to sing. I may have joked about something fun, like missing the bus and having to run or lots of exciting things that I’ve done, but today feels like a day with precisely none. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day, a little bit brighter, a little less grey, and I’ll remember to love and to play. But today . . . I don’t have a poem today. May 2025

These children will never conform never fit in never sit in neat rows, reciting times tables in tidy uniforms They will never drive a car open an ISA, stand in civilised queues or pay off a mortgage These children will never get a job, get drunk, join the army, get laid, get married, or have children of their own They will only rely, unable to be relied upon They will only react with the absolute honesty that the rest of us have crushed They will only live without a concept of tomorrow of how to be young, middle-aged, old of anything other than now But they will be a gift for those whose need is to give, and maybe that’s freedom, of a sort   April 2026