The Steaming Beast
Spring has sprung and new blossoms burst. Hungered by the lack of fuel, the compost heap beckons him from across the garden, angry steam rising up from its core of planned decay, a foundation for rebirth and a new life in mulch. He approaches the beast and tosses the heap; leaves, scraps of food, eggshells,
The Hosepipe
I needed petrol, 5 litres to get me there, and the rest for the process. A small price to pay, running on empty, the urine, already cold on my winter jeans, stinking on my frozen legs, a trembling fear. The hard stench of black tobacco fills my nostrils, my last few cigarettes, another dirty inhale,