“...and I’m telling you Ronnie, the darkness in that city was like a perfume the street smelled of; the fire hydrants, the sidewalk shit, even the people were bathing in it. I mean, I had to wear an extra pair of shorts and all just to make sure I didn’t soil myself when that motorcycle gang passed by. Couldn’t you believe how much cheese steak we had to stuff down our throats to get away while they were eyeing us? That one dude especially — I think he had, like, a pointed arrow on his helmet and brown patches on the elbows of his leather jacket—had these hawk eyes that were, like, undressing you. My god it was creepy. And even leaving, there was this buttload of assholes who just stood in the middle of the curb, ogling at each other. I mean, who does that shit? Don’t people have places to go, jobs to accomplish, kids to feed with the backs of their palms? Don’t get me wrong, though; I saw plenty homeless dudes out and about, but it’s like a maze, that city; if that Atlas guy from those Greek myths were real, he’d probably start cursing and dropping those boroughs like they were spiders. I’m telling you Ronnie, the stuff that happens there...”
Our Euphoric Escape
Rip off tattered trainers, scramble onto springy platform Leaping like kangaroos, hair caught in our mouths Cries of joy as we fly up, fly down Soar into crisp air, arms propelling Stationary for a few heartbeats then descend to the rubbery surface, Toes spring off the black elastic, like a ballerina sailing across a stage, Out of breath but the exhilaration forces us on Hand in hand we soar into the air, reaching high in the sky Limbs lose control, we collapse to earth giggling Oh how I enjoy our euphoric escape.
Foyle Young Poets of the Year