I take a straw broom to the damp leaves on the side path.
The concrete pavers are stained and dirty as they have been
for much of the year. Stooping allows me to see
What’s missing from this floor?
The furniture, but also the reason
In winter the garden
like the back of our mind
a faint young sun.
By dawn the house
has forgotten much of it.
Last night I caught you
reading strands from the plughole
pointing to the shrunken stranger
crackling in the tumble-dry.
I t ... More
There’s a still point in the afternoon
when the cross-eyed dogs
in the smudged pet-shop window
are a distraction:
no poems, in this stuck point
of the afternoon, I just watch
cross-breeds with shredded paper
stuck to their paws. It’s not that bad.
Amongst the mutterers in tracksuits
and the teen ... More
Underneath everything we touch is the smell
Of something too obvious to express
And yet we say there is nothing, nothing at all.
We have learned to live with a multitude of smells,
They simpl ... More
We met at the end of the party
when all the lights were fouled
with drink and even the self-titled
Ouzo Animal was yawning in protest
at the Bacchanalian revel in which
no member is not drunken. I sipped
soda water from a cracked glass,
refrained from removing my jumper
while a twelve-year old Bob Dylan with a voice
like Hank Will ... More