My uncle says that

special branch are

listening to

his calls

he said that birds

aren’t real and

gulls are all

a type of drone

I laughed

the first time he said

his neighbour tunnelled

in his walls

He’s digging up

the garden now

to find the agents

tracking him sure

they’ve set up some

subterranean station

to monitor important

communications

His nails are chipped

and some are broken

bloody fingertips and

swollen purple knuckles

Still digging and

still digging and

still digging in the rain

and deepening mud

searching for

something other than

sitting in his room

alone and unable to

be anything he imagined.

He doesn’t believe

in god, why would he?

When he doesn’t believe

in good or the

value of his breath.

Getting nothing

out of living

but still terrified

of death

My uncle thinks

that special branch

are listening to his calls