Climbing the Cage
We climb the wire, one leg over
the flash of a ‘Hazard’ sign, hide
nothing but mums’ words: ‘If
police get you, don’t call us.’
Portakabin opens with a chisel.
The scatter of drill-bits by the on-
switch, squeals of laughter, dust
banded by a skylight, a soft handle
tickling fingers with electrical
menace. Small hands into overalls
on hooks for fags, pics, cash,
the nothing clutter of grown-ups.
We’re natives to skimmed surfaces,
play footie with rolls of gaffer tape,
toolboxes for posts, pee on the fresh
plaster, leave our wall shadow stink.
To An Occupier Burning Holes, Ken Evans’ new collection, was published by Salt last year. His poems appear in Poetry Scotland, Magma, Under the Radar, 14, The High Window, IS&T, The Interpreter’s House. He won the Kent & Sussex Poetry Competition (2018); and Battered Moons (2016). YouTube clips: www.youtube.com www.youtube.com