by RODDY SCOTT
Lit houses strain at their moorings
in the midst of the maelstrom
some flotsam of a boy
alone in the multiplying winds
life and soul at a party of his exclusive ken
gatecrasher at a ball for the elements
drunk on adhesive and air, cheeks bunching
out with bullfrog rhythm, hands clenched
to the lips sucking hard at the white poly bag
he silhouettes under a tinny orange
from the tall street lamp and glancing up to this window,
with his own code
spells out one word,
and a whole society of meanings.
‘Morse’ by Roddy Scott was commended in the Sentinel Literary Quarterly Poetry Competition (July 2020) judged by Terry Jones.