Strings of scenery drag the cart
across creases in concrete
while blue metal mimics
a reinforced constellation. Edges
of garden beds, holes in bricks
inhabited by neurotoxins
& a vivacious insectoid rise
from long grass and what doesn’t
wash down, drains away. No one
meets me alone in the plastic camera’s
eye — just know there’s a secret
of shutter and tunnelling,
& that’s what gnaws away into safety,
leaves negatives. Yes, there were friends
who said ‘hod’ for ‘hole’
and ‘hostipal’ for recovery
but they visited rarely
even though the cocker
spaniel was incredibly friendly
and the dark room opened to light.
.
John Kinsella
.