Ruth Lexton

Time Travel Whilst the Kettle Is Boiling It is late at night and the kettle is boiling, a quire of steam fanning out in the white kitchen you are holding me as if I were your girl again you are speaking of how much you missed me. Late it is to be taking the outlines...

Stewart Carswell

      Let me tell you about a house on the street where I live #39 It’s the house at the end. White paint flakes off the front gate, wood rots beneath. The rusted latch doesn’t shut it — when the wind changes it takes the gate with it. Someone forgot a...

Chris Kinsey

      Willow Island Hey cat, you’re doing really well, three fields stalked and only one to go. I’ll wield my stick if cows come trampling the cuckoo flowers and clover. Let’s climb the arch of this willow bridge cracked by the wind so it bows its crown...

Holly Magill

      In praise of commercial radio and local taxis After you’ve flung yourself inside with your rain-soaked jacket, broken brolly half-mulched paper carrier bags, your crap clattered all over the backseat and down into the footwells where you know...