Poem: Sandpit

summer scratched knees,

grit and glass; stars press on green,

and raindrops of sweat in the sand.

a crater. a shallow hole.

with no ripple to its name

to slow nor speed up time,

if the desire were there.

 

the girl arranges quartz-crusted slugs

in size order, then

by personality.

the bully goes first – a plastic shovel

smears it across the wooden frame,

and the smell of cat shit fills the air.

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