уторак, 01. фебруар 2011.

Dave Lewis

Afternoon Shift

The lino shiny dead
cramped crocodile
choked hand
bread and dripping
at the cupboard towers
arthritic apron
dogs at feet
her petal splits
cuts like crusts
she knows you know
sliced chestnut
men at work
the knock on wood
saltwater drips on fur

Miners Dog

High home summer hill
Straining, sucking, sitting
Staring, stopped and stick-
A pit-prop tight and gripped.

The trees across the valley
Much higher than he can go now.
I pant to reassure him
In time with his withered eyes.

His tongue, tombed gritty green
He's faithful, though he's fading
Bones in death-grey jumper
Where will he lead me next?