Danny D. Ford

Slow

His house
smelled like
old piss and
oven chips

one year
he invited a few of us 
round for a birthday party
when his mother
put the tray 
of frozen nuggets
on the table
siblings of all sizes 
eagerly grabbed
at tiny brown pucks

they were dirt poor
he seemed half 
a step behind
in his head
always 
looking off
somewhere

he was kind
they all were

his house sat
at the end 
of a terrace
right on
a sharp corner
a sign outside read
‘SLOW!
Accident Hotspot

after a small cake
& song 
we all went outside 
to look 
at the blood stains
on the pavement
where a woman 
had been clipped
by a lorry
earlier that week

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