At night
in the dreary park
empty swings

the roundabout on well-
greased bearings manages
to budge a little

I tread the slight bounce
of compressed tyre
at the slide's base

boys and girls
spark up a cigarette
sip from one bottle

they will not get very high
unsheltered the breeze bites
soft rattle of chain

the grass is black
the private mulch
thick inside my head

begins to decompose
as the dog walks me

Clive Donovan

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Clive Donovan  would be pleased to hear them.