by Charlotte Hoare
Last night the sky was bleeding.
Tonight it is burning.
Beyond the rooftops
Along the tree line.
Red sky at night, shepherd's delight.
Joy at the knife crime and the arson:
There's nothing else happening.
The birds jump
in and out of synchronisation.
One voice so much louder than the rest.
Like the alarm
from the car with the smashed windows.
All dreams of adventure
are shattered on the kerb
and stacked like memorial flowers
against the flat tyre.