Popping lids

Apples put to bed, the children’s voice distant. Rattle-tap, rattle-tap go the busy bottles until the gas dies. Then silence. Lids popping, shutters snapping closed on another summer. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING


Eyes and ears wide open, bums on hard wood, bodies twitching.  Silver fish and the words washing like water. The rattle of medals. The mic listing in the waxy hand. The years unwound. Sisters grown into women. Not fallen, but dead. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING