Low To Go Poem by Pam Brown

throttled and threatened
with being thrown
from the third tier
of the bricked-up block.
the kids dumped
in the camper van
out the back
for safety’s sake.
the statistic in Japan
90 people suicide
every day,
matchmaker websites
arranging catastrophic
rendezvous
to suffocate together
in a car.
nothing like that
happens
in a compound like this,
the stale odour
of a plebian estate
on a hot summer day.
a man in bare feet
dismantling a car
with his cracked hands.
the bumper bars
the doors the grill
prised off and filed away
in a shed full
of buckled chrome
and brake discs
and greasy cable.
amateur wrecker
“nothing happens here
nothing gets done
but you get to like it”