Two more young black men …

Two more young black men eat each other.
One disintegrates, emptied out, gutted.
The other interred in a pit of justice, police, court, prison, parole, police, court, prison, parole, police, court, prison.
The only trace now memorials made of damp flowers and photographs and 'did anyone see' posters on the corner of my block.

21st Century Fulfilment

I received a message from Ocado prior to my delivery last week to let me know my order was being packed in the 'customer fulfilment centre'. There are many things I will find in my delivery: toothpaste, vinegar, and toilet paper being just some of them. I'm not sure I ordered 'fulfilment'. And I'm not sure I'm going to find it in a packet of figs or pledge furniture polish either.

Endings

My neighbours for the last two nights have been shredding each other …
There must come a point in a relationship when you know that it's over. Probably at the point of slamming doors and esteem. Inverting intimacy to use every piece of knowledge of the other's fragility to displace them, to disappear them, to end it without having to take the responsibility of walking out. Like taking a blowtorch to wallpaper, there is no going back from that kind of sustained stripping of self, certainty, sanity.