When we stole the eggs from the barn that June
you said we held life in our hands.
Untrue I said as I carried a near score
in my upturned t-shirt.
And even if I could hold one
it would never get born
not in those hands that you let
be put on you
or in the grass nest we made
smelling of piss-yellow sunshine
or by us two, old enough to ourselves
but still going round like foxes
wasting things other people might like to use.
James Leo McAskill was born in Manchester in 1989. He is a Master’s graduate of the University of Glasgow, where he studied Literature and Writing. He has since moved to Southern Europe, first Sicily, and now Lisbon, where he lives and works.