Amateur

It’s hard to tell once on
The train to Birmingham
Whether it changed anything
Seeing a multiracial society
Kids running across bustling streets
The sights and smells differ
From quiet, sterilised streets
Amateur gardeners knead out
The weeds around a small plot
Of land. I’m bored just watching
The intricate backbreaking toil
I could remove the signs from
School gates, take what disruption
I can get my hands upon
Lice crawling on bare skin
Escape, not yet an option

Amateur

Comb

A man in a shell suit
Bags heavier than usual
Green bin lid doesn’t shut
An arm stretches out
To squash down the mass
Compact compost in neat
Squares of satisfaction
Chewy combs; dessert
Or breakfast snacks
Occupy your thoughts
Processing power not
Required to choose
A diet, pump in the fat
By the camera load
Watch it ooze across
The high street, but
Nobody watches it
Stick to the concrete

Comb