POEM Philip Gross

NWR Issue 105

The River Next Door

From The River Next Door

Taff valley, Quakers Yard

1. The garden comes down to the river…

with drowned corn-dolls
of flood-wrack in the wire,
our fiction of a border,
the last post up-torn,
up-tangled, rammed back
at an angle in the grey silt
with baroque scrunched lager cans,
one flip-flop, and a corrugated
rust-fret fine as peeled bark,

while what’s left of the fence
drift-nets the stream
snagging quick shreds of blue
cement bags slim as fish.
(There are fish, too, like sinewy
dreams, head on and fighting
upstream home to Merthyr.)

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previous poem: Llafar
next poem: John’s Curious Machines


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