D A Angelo (he/him) is a UK-based poet with work in Literary Yard, Rabid Oak, Bluehouse Journal and several other journals. He enjoys reading, movies and enjoying the city he lives in.

Idle Foxes

Idle foxes spinning away their lives on a playground's merry-go-round. Idle foxes napping under a football pitch's sodium light. Idle foxes gawping at wild blackberries ripening like the night. Idle foxes scrapping in bus stop dens. Idle foxes shagging in back gardens while a voyeuristic moon watches. Idle foxes bag snatching away from the glare of hawk-eyed CCTV. Idle foxes coming home to tea, to breathe, to moult, to bleed.

Goldfish

A goldfish witnessed the apocalypse from its plastic bag. But this was Bognor Regis and nothing happens in Bognor Regis apart from gossiping gulls, a moaning sea, and tourists coming and going from Butlin's faster than a fading firework. The goldfish was surprised at the sky evaporating, the sea bubbling like a cauldron, and the cake of a coastline crumbling away. Whatever is seen to be believed, must be believed. It closed its eyes for a second and imagined itself having wings. The murmurations of starlings escaping the horizon couldn't believe their eyes.