Nothing to chew on
Nothing to brood on

You’ve been sucking the marrow
of months gone by,

caught the mulled mornings

Like a quiet reverie, nostalgia through a slipstream

But the frost’s active and acting up.

So you’re standing in hopeful hi-vis (can’t be missed)
with c’est comme si on s’aimait drilling your eardrums

Platform 15, patience

It won’t be your body on the tracks (thank god)
You couldn’t say so same some many weeks ago

With c’est comme si on s’aimait drilling your eardrums,
head-jerk like a halcyon house stalwart
Haçienda, circa 92

Party in your pulse, population one

December brings the Cadbury smiles,
couples copping off and cuffing, mistle
on your tiptoes, reruns of old shows,

arguments stuffed in turkey
like fist in gob, Mum sequestered in the kitchen:
it’s an eight hour job.

Wouldn’t dare miss it
for a deep dark kiss
with the midnighted end.

Done the dance with death;
she’s a tease, a damn flirt

In case, suicide makes a speed-dial,
hide the knives; too much thought for

an absent thought.
I know I will make the new year.

Jacob Bernard-Banton is a writer and illustrator who lives in London. He draws his nightmares, because laughing at them has gotten boring. Instagram: @jberndt_art

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