behind a bending fence, bowed and ivy veined, the sad garden grows, unbound, around your father's house. the vicar passes an envelope to you, pencilled with the word - piano - and begins to play something glissando. where flowers grew, fingers potted. ashes into earth and creasing paper: john 6: 1 - 14, we listened … Continue reading a continuous slide.
He waited a while longer, but he saw no return. He got out from under and he went upstairs. He laid in the bath and rolled another cigarette from an ashtray collection. The mirror steamed and rain drummed the thin glass in the skylight. When the water lost its heat, he climbed out, dried himself and … Continue reading The Table.
Dave was one of the Catford street cleaners. He worked Inchmery Road (we lived at no. 3) and the surrounding roads of SE6. This was Dave’s patch. Being the 1960s, everyone knew Dave and Dave knew everyone. His were the eyes of the neighbourhood; in the same way that the bobby and the milkman were … Continue reading A Beautiful, Deer Antler Handle.
The middle brother was a sleepwalker. He could be found surrounded by quarter eaten easter eggs, or marooned on an ocean of ripped wrapping paper. We camped the wild garden at the cliff edge. Tarp strung between beech trees, and he, ankle-strapped to me. One xmas morning, Santa and then, somehow, mother, found him … Continue reading Framed.
