Kennel
A long night wrestling
in the narrow bed,
constrained and willing
under the snuffed-out bulb.
Breeze-block wall, tin sink,
a locked door
to the neon lit
unshadowed corridor.
We slept and woke,
took it up again
then you turned away.
The uncurtained window
let in a mist of light
from the dawn outside,
enough to see
extended, swollen
across the floor
a black dog
lying where
you’d need to tread
if you were ever
to get out.
Chris Hardy’s poems have been published widely and have won prizes. His third collection was published by Graft Poetry. Chris is in LiTTLe MACHiNe: The most brilliant music and poetry band in the world! Carol Ann Duffy