The Golden Triangle

by Victoria Glidden

The Golden Triangle 

by Victoria Glidden 

The whole block tastes like dog piss. 
They’ve stacked us up, up, up, so high,
measuring paws to square inches of squashed concrete. 
No color, worse-than-none, gray

stones fall, dive, plummet, 
towards me, on my bike, with no helmet. 
I wear my helmet now. 

Gears grind, jackhammers pummel 
hawks hunt pigeons 
taking meters in milliseconds 
light under wing
darkness to come
their shrieks
bounce, bounce, bounce
from wall to wall,
glass to plaster 
rattle through scaffolding
they use it all
they know how

I’ve been watching a nest in the new build, 
waiting for the bricklayers to come cover it up,
dinosaur feet, shimmering wings, beady eyes, trapped! 
silently I tell them to Go on, get! Get out of here!

There’s no more water, and when it falls, it’s got nowhere to go,
plants choking on dog piss, 
dogs barking on fumes,
hacking up bile into the woodchips and eating the grass down to root
to vomit on the bedroom carpet.

There’s sirens, so ma…