clayground copse
every evening you wage your campaign
against the molehills
cleaving each disfiguring mound
with a smooth sweep of your spade as
jackdaws carouse in the dusk
their ash tree roost black
against the stillbright sky
the cracked-hubcap moon
you say you admire the jackdaw
his calculated roadside gambles
but still you stand by clayground copse
and tomorrow there will be molehills
Stephen Oliver originates from Durham and now lives in West Berkshire. He has recently completed the Diploma in Creative Writing at the University of Oxford.