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It’s winter here
by Nick Catlin

It’s winter here in East London
Jocelyn followed Isha
Storming our forest
Heaving at the trunks of the ancients.
I sat on a broken oak
Calculating the depth of loam
Of fallen leaves.

In East London it’s winter
Our lone station guard
Thawing under a bar heater
No mind to weed the flower pots.
Born again shoots in emerald green jackets
Daffodils queue to Liverpool Street
We all mind the gap.

East London winters ice up Hollow Ponds
They want suitcases at the Ibis
Home Office moves on Refugees
Displaced uprooted corkscrewed Home Less
Into tents hidden by genocide.
I’m short of breath
Chasing down a new moon.

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