Poem

James Appleby

Summer After

I bleach the fruit.
Whatever comes into my home
scrubbed, skinned. It lives
on food, kissed cheeks,
the groped handrail of a bus;
it lives in neighbours’ lungs.
Skin sunburn-pink
from how I’ve washed my hands,
this is my summer. Through the window
I watch a boy in a suit of tattoos
his hair lawn-green stretch back against the grass,
speakers and heartbeat synced.
The overflow of clubs onto my road: a woman
piggybacked through bollards, screaming
joyful, pissed of course,
swearing up at lampposts.
Through the glass, the reckless young.
The mark of my fingerprints.
Contaminators hold hands in the street.



James Appleby is a poet and translator. Born in 1993, his work has been published in Primo Poetica and is upcoming in Marble Poetry. His working languages are French, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese.

www.jamesapplebywriting.co.uk