Alchemisland

I left that offal in my black Nike bag for a week

You in my sister’s lab coat and safety goggles, Holly taking it seriously

The barest script, scouting locations in real time

No editing, shot in camera in scene order

I barely remember most scenes

A scientist had transgressed, as is their wont

A wayward couple, my torn up school shirt spattered with fake blood

Zombies shambling about

Something ripping off Night of the Living Dead

Really, what is the loss of a morning’s work

A strop of enormous magnitude

Dad’s old camcorder took tapes and this one hadn’t worked

We sat around, a premiere

Aghast at its brevity

A minute or less of footage, from the end of the film

A gored man’s offal guts spilling out, in Dale Close Lane.