User Review( votes)
written by: Tim Gardiner
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.
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.
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.
the water poplar
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.
to her reflection