Stubb Road
Stubb Road is a snake of clay
Enticing me
To play in the rustling brown brook;
Sticklebacks dawdle, wait to be caught.
I lift the jar to watch them.
They twist to avoid my giant gaze.
When I have eaten them up
With staring,
I’ll tip them free.
Stubb Road is a pillarbox,
Red, reassuring, reliable.
‘Make sure the letters go right down.’
My mother said.
She’d heard of post
Being stolen by people
Who reached into the slot.
I always pushed my posting hand
Right in
Till I felt
The hard metal grin
Might snap
And I’d be caught.
Stubb Road is the buds
From lime trees in Edwin’s garden,
Sweet and green.
It’s where parrots talk
From their cages
On the house wall
And where we stalk each other
Through private gardens,
Our feet trespassing
Amongst the cabbages.
Sophie Yeomans has only recently started poetry writing seriously, to develop and find her voice. She is retired so it’s the ideal time to do this. Her inspiration often comes from the natural world. She has worked for social services and the health service, has been married and has three sons and three grandchildren.