His house become houses
become flats
become Brookes Tarpaulin

boarded and meshed in steel
I came across God homeless
his back to the wind

counting the blows it took
to puff the feathers from a wigeon
angels frothing up the sea

and as I hurried by
armed with a half-smile
and a no thanks

I swear I heard him mumble
I never wanted
any of this

Published in Channel, Issue 3, 2020

Tryst

Wood