Stephen House

in her worn dressing gown she leans over our falling down fence asks me if i’m doing ok i tell of ongoing tests and painful biopsies waiting on cancer results it’s not looking good her eyes mist over concerned and with care i glance at a graze on her hand and wrist magpie lands near […]

a tall thin man dressed in a filthy frock shuffles along these streets each day i drag myself along them too on trodden grime we separately seek our own evaporating reasons for these solitary rambles to anywhere else but the wasted now of this weeks of passing each other without word spoken no nod or