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Respawn by James Roome


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.


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


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


to calm the children.


The tour guide approached the ground.

People hoped

she would actually


this time.


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


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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