The Festive Spike by Timothy Cottingham

First published in What's On by

His homeboy Dav, or Jam, or some other
Likely scumbag, has made him a shank.
A dull blade, six inches, serrated –
It's a Christmas present of sorts.
He is feeling quite the big man.

Quarrel over drugs, or turf, or girls.
Someone has pissed off someone else,
I suppose. And now from this time forth,
His thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth.
Same story.

And in some far-off neon corner,
Or sordid alleyway comes another
Scream of anguish, snuffing the glowing
Warmth of sulphur lit streets. It lies
Sprawled, like something from an abattoir

Slaughter floor, on the sanguine pavement.
By tomorrow it will already
Be gone; replaced by familiar
Pallid outline and plastic tape,
Festive spike now gift wrapped in polythene.

And another skeleton goes to fill
The ranks on that marble orchard
hill.

Vote entry number is...

0276

Send us your news, pictures and videos

Most read stories

Local Info

Enter your postcode, town or place name

About cookies

We want you to enjoy your visit to our website. That's why we use cookies to enhance your experience. By staying on our website you agree to our use of cookies. Find out more about the cookies we use.

I agree