Boys in the storm
Duncan and Alec had come full circle since lunchtime –
believed they’d drunk themselves sober.
They lost the taste of it; missed one for the road.
Each thought the other was driving.
A JCB bucket crouched like a dog
in the back. Duncan shared an earthy hug
when Alec floored it.
Rain slicked the black lanes and filled ditches
choked with docks and harebells. Tarmac writhed
as a snake will shed skin, sloughing its itch.
Throwing the truck.
The jaws flew on, lifting the boys through glass
and into the night. Duncan broke prettily
into a swastika. Alec heard steel teeth split his head
and nothing more.
A fireman breathed into Alec’s mouth
there under the stars, but knew how it would end
when air bubbled through his splintered skull
to rejoin the wind.