Behind the off licence, in a bright huddle
six teenagers laugh touched by Spring sun.
Hoods up they crack open cans, suck on fags.
Grinning they snap each other, pass phones around.
Hey what’s wi aw they rainbows in the windaes?
Their fun tumbles downhill to where I walk
in the budding wood. Trees long since coppiced,
once thinned to encourage stronger growth.
I keep my distance.