Circle



Back to last poem Forward to next poem Back to Gary Allen page	Circle My writing desk is a chest of drawers someone has painted it gloss white the gloss white paint is flaking the wormed wood below is showing it is pressed against the window I can see into the backyards I can see the Antrim hills in the distance covered in snow and hanging cloud beyond the carriageway and farms beyond the bog land fields the backs of the houses form a square of wrecked cars glass scorch marks young people drink cider young people have pit bulls that bark twenty-four hours young people have no jobs I have a tin of tobacco I have a cheap notepad one hundred pages a pen with Oxfam written on it a coat against the frost the ice on unheated walls I can look beyond even the hills I can look beyond the sadness of my years beyond the fact that nothing has changed all because I have a poem in the making – my writing desk is a chest of drawers.	Home