Someone is married

Someone is married

Somebody died

Somebody has a voice

Someone has not.

Loudly distorted

Choice words

Batter at the door

With no context

To call their own

Disembodied

They tumble

Spilling

Confetti nonsense

The best of them

Fluttering

Gently

Down to the floor

The harshest

Forming a ground mist.

On the hall landing

A community of strangers

Surrounded by crisp

Air-dried invective

Shrill laughter

Broken english

Marsh gas

Seeping through the crack

In the door frame

It smells of vinegar

And yesterday’s

Chips

Double-strength lager

In aluminium cans

Anger

In the street

Breaking glass

And laughter

Nothing is real anymore

Everything is filtered

Through the lens

Of my fish eye

Triple locked

Just like a pension

Waiting to die

One of us

Both of us

All.