If wind is forecast, I sneak out
when the neighbours are sleeping.
Nobody sees me tipping bins and kicking
litter into hedges. Nobody sees me
snipping phone lines with secateurs,
although come morning they’ll notice
the light on their router’s gone orange
and maybe their day will be better
or at least not the same. Me
hopping their back gate,
kicking down a fence panel
and overturning the trampoline.
The patio umbrella’s in the fish pond.
It’s not the recognition, it’s the work
that’s important, so at the town meeting
when the mayor infers we must’ve done something
to incur the disapproval of the gods
and a sacrifice may be in order,
would anyone volunteer themselves
to help us make amends
for our transgressions, I nod along
but I do not step forward.
From Magma 83
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