Gravel Pits (a villanelle)

 
 
 Strutting shoes in dust and spit
 The boys make their way in scented air
 This is home to the gravel pits 

 The intercity snakes with a thwack and a hiss
 Cuts through the night without a care
 Strutting shoes in dust and spit

 Dead-dogs in bags and lean stray cats
 Bashed old cars with their smashed glass glare
 This is home to the gravel pits 

 Toking butts he smiles, so fit
 Through smoke with eyes that stir, arms bare
 Strutting shoes in dust and spit 
  
 Then with cuts and grazes running, swinging sticks
 A skirmish with the out-group, stoned warfare
 This is home to the gravel pits 
 
 I stand here, look back and see it-
 Turning for home in the cooled night air
 Strutting shoes in dust and spit
 This was home to the gravel pits 

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