When billionaires blew rockets to burn, we filled balloons
with spittle, and flew like Icarus towards the sun,
skinned up palms to escape ourselves, to rescue a neighbour’s cat,
shouted in cones, ranted from rooftops,
held umbrellas just to caress the currents.
Once we mingled, cycled in an umbilical cord,
a lycra chain-gang, in parks, in cities,
crossing squares, linking hands on skyscrapers,
thoughts of jumping banished by who we might fall on,
a lonely road now with just our breaths, and memories.
After this, the clamp, the civic shut in,
will come the release, the new build,
going into shops like entering a circus, the shrill cry that follows the roar,
the kiosk sign that says all fear gets left inside,
we’ll find each other then, clowning around, ignoring hoops for the air outside.
