Poem by Dave Goulder
Strathoykel
He reaches for another stone
Turns and bends, back to the wind to place it.
Once again the gale lifts his wax jacket
up and over
His shoulders, admitting the sleet and rain
into his army sweater.
The stone not quite in place,
he straightens to fasten the useless press studs
yet again, and yet again he curses
his condition.
This weather can smash a man;
not quite severe
not enough to drive him home, conscience eased.
He suffers discomfort
and frustration,
a craftsman struggling with his craft
eye and touch. . .