Leggings - poetry moment

The night is fraught,
with sharp noises
the car doors slam -
the invention of BANG.

Small groups interlock
on stock phrases,
"We only wanted, the..."
Immunity was never certain.

The streets crunch glass
on the stricken stones.
"And we only meant that..."
It's never enough, never enough...
.
And the night grows cold.
Even the Radio have stopped.
"We were better than..."
So much old itch...

I'm almost sorry you aren't here,
You'd have loved the ends...
Even the story would have flowed
for us -
, a sticky fluid...
inside a treacle mine.