This poem is taken from PN Review 117, Volume 24 Number 1, September - October 1997.
A Back RoadThis mess of stones was a house -
A hut, rather - thrown up by Grandfather,
In his youth; with a morning smoke
And a boiled kettle. He worked on a barn
And a scullery. Up a ladder
To a half-top, his son was born,
Tom (or John?) Anyway, this son
Had two boys, Dick and Will; who played here
Where the churn stood, scrawled boys' dirty thoughts
...
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