'Entropy': a poem by Anthony Adler

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."