Only, when your face slams
into solid glass, somewhere outside
Dorking – a squared-off edge

unmentioned in map or guide –
do you realise what’s going on,
presence noted by a watchful

deer, wary at the edge of woods,
the skulk of abandoned pill boxes,
where yews suck on dirty chalk,

the scene makes sense, at last,
you’ve strayed inside a postcard,
having used up all your stamps.



A freelance copywriter, Matt Gilbert also writes a blog about place, books and other distractions at Originally from Bristol, he currently gets his fill of urban hills in south east London.