Minotaur They found him in the guts of the city on one of our holy nights. Zoned-out. Lost to the world. Face to the wall. Done over by locals looking for sport. Still yelling when the cops arrived: two guys on the graveyard shift who clocked him once and called for backup. Later, darts from a zookeeper’s gun shut him down, deep into dreams only I could wake him from. Records say three men were needed to load him onto the gurney, but all I remember is a delicacy of step, the calm appraisement of the contours of my face, his aching awareness of what was still to come.
Roy Woolley lives and works in Derby (UK). Recent work has appeared in Gallus (Poetry Scotland), The Crank (https://www.thecrankmag.com/) and the Hammond House poetry/song competition anthologies Stardust (2021) & Changes (2022).