My coppiced mind below teenage rind, and wrong is right.
Woodland hikes resting mountain bikes, then summer bicker.
We lit paper fires, lied to liars, stayed out late.
Kicked a ball, wished to be tall, change the tongues tone.
We ran around lost in our sound from North to South.
Changed our names in footie games what did we gain?
Climbed small trees acquired house keys, felt like a king.
Swear words came with pubic fame and a stubbled face.
Felt our skin hide the sin as we heard birds sing.
Sat on rocks with soaking socks, and blistering sores.
Fanta stained teeth, nicked a leaf, watched the line.
Snagged a bush, we had a rush on seeing the roach.
The river gurgled, childhood burgled, talked of burgers.
I told a joke, drank some coke, the shadows were cold.
We sat on coats, hid like stoats, the current never stopped.
We began to tut, before a strut on the home straight.
Spat on the floor, then opened the door for another dawn.
Gareth lives in Wales. He had his first collection out in 2018 by Futurecycle called The Miner. In 2020, his second collection, called Shadows of Tryfan is released. He is currently doing an MFA at Manchester Met. His poetry has also been nominated for Best of the Net.