Men in sheds

The men in sheds are at it again blossoming in confession like petal tablets on the tongue They do it in secret When the sky is cloaked with grey (For they thrive in competition) All it takes is an axe in palm perhaps a ball on foot for the truth to ricochet And we see it on his face the curving of his spine like a fetus or a black dog or a cloud (filled with tears)

Evie Wilson