‘You need hands
to hold a little baby…’
‘A face to express
how much you care…’
‘Space to cross
and reach out to others…’
Deep in the bowels of the Dream Factory,
there was a sound of grinding
like unfound gears,
then a metallic clunk, and eventually,
after a long, slow, wheezing descent… silence.
Big Bee crawled from his bunker,
rested a shock of blonde hair on the kerb-stone,
and opened his mouth to gulp in fresh air…
A slither of green mucus fell into the gutter.