Three Poems

DEMOLITION IN SPRING

They knock down the houses of my bedroom window,
the ones opposite.
Glass, slate and spar split under the pick-axe,
each wide hit
raises dust, tears wood. The sun gets the swing
of steel. And today is the first day of spring.

I watch them for more than a week, seeing the sky
emerge through slats,
and through a window underwater blooms
of wallpaper. That's
what's derelict as chance, something so bizarre
I wish the ruin back as it was before -

accustomed stains, two redbricks back-to-back,
and lights in unknown rooms.


PASTORALE

Come to the years of tup and serve
...