This Again
Now that the roof sags like plasticine, rooms are full of gloop
and the walls bulge and slump, and everyone agrees it’s no use,
we ditch the thing and split. You brush it off, like you always do,
and zoom between trees, cross the river, and vanish into moorland
to seek out another mate in the heather, while I hover, trying to heal
then, finally, I zip over hills and hedgerows, before hunkering down
in the woodpile. After years of fails and fiascos, I’m quick to pad
the sides with grubs and leaflitter and burrow deep into the tunnel
because I know all about winter and this being alone again etc.
Jane Bonnyman is a poet based in Scotland who has recently completed her MA in Creative Writing. She has been widely published in UK magazines such as Poetry Wales, Magma, The Interpreter’s House and The Rialto. She works as a teacher in Edinburgh.