/1
The tour guide approached the ground.
Most of the group
covered their eyes.
Some didn’t bother.
Children would run
through the fountain of viscera. We
played here as children, they’d say,
appearing suddenly
from the future
in droves.
/2
The tour guide approached the ground.
She pulled out the hanky
her mother had given her, ran
her finger
over its stitching.
Those initials meant something
now.
It was all the group could do not
to snigger
as they anticipated her explosion.
The power station plonked itself on the horizon.
No one
wanted
to calm the children.
/3
The tour guide approached the ground.
People hoped
she would actually
hit
this time.
It
was the overwhelming opinion of the group
that this had gone on long enough.
Even the children
whooped in anticipation.
Things must have got really bad here, someone said.
People hoped.
They crossed their fingers for a body.
A body, now
that
they could explain.
______________
James Roome received an MA in Poetry from MMU and is based in Manchester, UK. His work has appeared in Magma, Tears in the Fence and Ink, Sweat and Tears. His first chapbook, Bull, is out now from The Red Ceilings Press and was a Poetry Book Society pamphlet choice.
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