I had only brought milk
For the fire pit
(It was scratching)
A substitute for pure wetness
I thought
Plus the hosepipe ban
Could catch us out –
Four pints and a
Blanket for all of us.
Suspended in the leaden clutch
Of boulder pushing exhaustion:
Food was never a priority.
It turns the flame a different colour
The milk.
‘My seat couldn’t’ve been
Yours too’
To someone whose chair
I wanted.
‘It has always been only mine –
Go walk the bridge for real drink’.
Plastic river sheet had
Generationally bowed the
Beams, I hotfooted it, too.
Barren shelf on barren shelf,
Air on air, obviously not worth
The buying.
5% grab of many packs.
The bowing bowed inwards
From this side – but
What do I know once the tags
Spit and froth?
Threw the drink for the fire
And dived under blanket
Clobbered by driftwood
Until the very end.
