L - Prise Me Open

We are a generation
Afraid
of being hurt
As seedlings
We watched from the cheap seats
Sunday's descent into brambled tussles
Upended plates of roast
Capsized gravy boats

It bled through muslin-thin walls
the blunder and fatigue
Lives of quiet desperation
loud enough to share with neighbours
Silence
Ceasefires hung and ripened
We lay respiring in dusky bedrooms
each a little frog-eyed Damocles
Duvet tight across chest
Listening
Waiting
for the thump and crack of ordnance
Grinding teeth
in lieu of prayer

And now
We fear to touch
We knock and clatter
together
like wet cockles in a bag

Dream of being grabbed
Prised open