T H E E Y E C H A R T I scowl towards his voice. He says the mapmarks how far vision goes. If I could creep up close I’d learn the journey. His technique restricts me to a chair so he can track how far I travel down the chart alonebefore I pause. […]
My boy is painting outer space,
and steadies his brush-tip to trace
the comets, planets, moon and sun
and all the circuitry they run…
Don’t mind if it’s in Sign,
Or words in witty lines…
Brief missteps, falling out of the bath, up / the stairs at the train station as commuters / climb over…
(The Dark Side)
/
/ My mind goes back to Fumin Wood, and how we stuck it out,
/ Eight days of hunger, thirst and…
A cup capsizes along the formica,
/ slithering with a dull clatter.
/ A few heads turn in the crowded evening snack-bar.
/ An old man…
