Firebrats Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

You think more is the answer,
shopping at Waitrose,
more, more, more.
But sometimes you sink into ashes past stoking,
at home with firebrats, with less.

Complacency is a chartered funeral barge burning
cut slightly adrift.
A dog that's forgotten where it buried its bone
barks at a crescent moon.

You think it won't sink until it does.
You think it floats until it sinks.

Snapping at the hand that clips the lead
or tries to take ownership,
and yet quietly wanting something more,
something more than a butcher's chop.