Tuesday, February 25, 2014

A Poem by Paul Bavister

Plastic Bag

I collected firewood
along the edge
of the overgrown carpark.

A plastic bag
caught in a birch tree
wrapped a ball of rain water.

For months I've looked at it
for a clear
upturned image

of empty offices.
Now the water's warmed
to fishbowl green.

Today I pushed
against the wire fence
to get a clearer view.

Tomorrow I'll climb in
and nose around the wire racks.
There are rats there.

Paul Bavister has published three collections of poetry, the most recent being The Prawn Season (Two Rivers Press).  He works as a gardener and also teachers creative writing for the University of Oxford and Birkbeck College, London.

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