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Friday, June 10, 2011

Grubby Glitter

The sparkle chips off our fingernails,
scattering silver-pink sparks in the leaf litter
and leaving a trail for the young ones -
just a vague path of grubby glitter.

We are hungry, so we eat
the candyfloss-flavoured lipgloss from our lips
and hunt scraps of paper,
we poachers with plaited hair.
We freeze -
        still as fungus on the side of a tree,
faces contorted in the darkness, unselfconscious.
The gamekeepers pass. They turn a blind, nostalgic eye
to our shenanigans.

With rabbits stashed in our wellies, we
creep/trudge to the lake, which is not really a lake, but that doesn’t matter
because the big game is there
and we are wild things tonight
and tonight is our last hurrah.