Cavity Wall Insulation


Foam,
bricked in,
night shaded.
Fumes

drifting
through cracks,
a silent
strychnine
gas,
tightening
the lungs,

blocking
air
like a child lock
blocks
escape
from
the back seat,

waiting
for sleep’s
appearance
before launching
the final
breathless
attack.

poem

86-87

arts & ego
dish dosh
© & licence

set Hear