Entropy
You fretted that your house would burn down in the night,
or that the sudden heat-death of the universe
would happen first and everything would stop. Your
father demonstrated how this worked using
two different kinds of sugar but forgot
to say how long it took: he just dissolved
the gritty static into pitch-black
grown-up coffee. It stayed with you. Then
you learnt how to spin fire-poi
in someone else’s garden, went
to parties in a field (near
a river you fell into on
a number of occasions)
and a little while later
gave me cigarettes down by
the lake at midnight. The lights
from the city smudged the stars out.
Look, you said, breathed in until
the flame caught under your
cupped fingers, watched it glow
towards the filter. Look.
It starts like this.
*****
Bio:
"Anthony Adler was a commended Foyle's Young Poet in 2007. Since that time he has battled damsels, rescued monsters, and been published in print and online. He lives not quite in London."