Astro Storm
¶ 1
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No fences are broken here
where none exist
in a suburb of Copenhagen
where Astro-turfs open to everyone.
¶ 2
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No paradise, these gardens,
and such high winds that goalposts
lifted, moved with the stones
that pelted us in the storm.
¶ 3
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Polystyrene was everywhere for a reason
I’ve forgotten how to fathom.
Metres walked with nonchalance became
markers of attrition with the wind.
¶ 4
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This progress, slow as a four-year-old
with teeth sinking into a jumper,
carried to provisional sanctuary of offices.
¶ 5
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Just a strip of land, here,
which no-one trashes. No litter
our Minerva ball unstolen.
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