Passionate, if I’m tagged in
Reserve a second place, loser sash and badge sadface
Trophy space in the bag you brought in
I’m all about chaotic displacement
Turn a peaceful crescent into Crécy or Passchendaele
Residents on self enforced house arrest as long as I remain in residence
Always dashing like Santa through lashing snow
Doing Garda-tailed sprints through gardens
Wearing Spring fashions
My guts they want for garters
More guts than the butcher’s chuck bucket
Close cut don’t mean a trip to the barbers
Close-up, like Lily singing about David Harbour.
Alchemisland 
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