Poem by Dave Goulder


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. . .

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