‘In a shed out the back of seventy one
she hammered bird shapes from metal
for business and fun. Sparked feathers
became an impossible swan; trumpeter
black from raincloud of iron.’
I recalled these lines from an earlier scene…
and thought, I’d play him now almost the same.
The same, but slightly differently –
in a way I couldn’t have done then.
And maybe, she would have smithed flamingoes
or herons, in a shed out the back of seventy one.
the impossible swan shit haiku
i wash cutlery
i watch rainwater on glass
i whisper that past
e. howl we roll x