Jonathan Butcher- Two Poems

Drifting 

We burnt down what was left of our 

responsibilities on the midnight fire;

scarfs and drinks keeping us warm,

the powder's rush now creeping up our

backs like demented frost.

We share our tokens of pride without

judgement, clink glasses when great

minds think alike, "So will this continue

after we hit fifty?"- I have seen various 

casualties, and secretly pray that is not

our fate. 

The music from the battered stereo still

flows through the hiss, as we pick ourselves

up once more, and hope the end never finds

its path, as the fire leaves its embers to warm

the oncoming dawn, as we continue to drift

forward, but never even close to home. 

New Game

This whole scene has now disintegrated,

like melting icicles, grass now refuses to

grow on the spots we once stood.

I notice the swings and benches we burnt 

and so delicately smashed, are now 

replenished, artless, and without our 

imprint.

The path that lead us here all those moons

ago now far to worn to hold any substance,

even the pebbles now creak. 

The new shelters, however, despite our gripes

against their imperfections, now keep out the

grey drops of rain, that we used to quench our

false misery, under which we once danced, 

without any fear of drowning.    

Jonathan Butcher has had work appear in various print and on-line publications including: Underground Voices, Gutter Eloquence, The Camel Saloon, Dead Beats,Electric Windmill Press, Elbow Room and others. His first chapbook 'Concrete Cradle' has recently been published by Fire Hazard Press.