Oulton John
written by: Tim Gardiner
@timgardiner3
Ten years have passed since I was made redundant from Pleasurewood Hills. Busking on the corner of Marsh Road is a thankless task, perhaps I’d be better off by the pub with its ramshackle sign.
lying utchman
with missing teeth
I smile at you
I don’t get booked anymore, the live slots on Harbour Radio a distant pleasure. I’m lucky to make a fiver a day on these streets, most people don’t understand the sacrifice.
summer storm
heavy rain fills
a tatty cap
After a successful afternoon for a change, I’m twenty quid up walking down the long track to the broad.
tent collapse
the water poplar
still standing
The will-o’-the-wisp flickers like a flame in the breeze. Restless, I gaze up from the bivouac, a clearing sky stained by the Milky Way.
space station
Andromeda chained
to her reflection
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