Little
I saw the last-gasped
feather-weighted
‘O’
written by a shower
of little quills
cooling at the tips.
The tin-god voice
on the radio
sang along with my own,
numb and as low as tyres.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lash
An eyelash pressed in a book
catches my breath with the clinch
of its perfect line break.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Buttonholed
The boyish bridegroom’s button-hole red as his razor-burned cheeks; no top hat, no length in his tales.
• Matthew Howard works in the insurance industry in Norwich and, along with providing IS&T with some much appreciated book reviews, is also reading for an MA in creative writing at Manchester Metropolitan University.
