When I think of rubbish chucked from bridges
I number blue bins, car tyres, half-sunk fridges.

The strangest thing? A typewriter scrolling water.
The most obscene? Two armchairs and a sofa.

Fenced around these reflections and stones
are the wasted attempts at home:

picture this yard with a bricked-up Cortina,
a swollen ceiling where rain pours in.

Down Up
Leave The River