the oaks
in the triangle of land between
Eglinton Hill and
Cantwell Road
grow leaning haphazard out of the raised earth
it was
fenced off gated and unknown when I was young
in the sixties
it is fenced off still and littered
in my fifties
every Autumn
they shed leaves make the land grow contained
by the fences
but they are
not huge
they are clothed in new arran pullovers of
thick ivy
~~ “mlr” ~~
on 2nd November 1967 my Dad left
a little later in 1968 I dug a hole in the garden
a little frightened about how deep I would go
I lobbed stones high up into the air (careful that they land
back in my own garden) and wondered if they could strike
the birds the planes?
I ran around the edge of the garden over a hundred times
counting the laps (and was made to drink salted squash
to replace the sweat I’d lost)
I wondered: if an alien race conquered the world
and said they would go away if Someone could
answer one single question correctly,
and it was only I who would know the answer
stood there in the garden now
1967 wormhole: 1967
1968 wormhole: the fingers
autumn wormhole: “bring in as many / different types of leaf / as you can find”
birds wormhole: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get (1973) – tribute
oak wormhole: Bob // 1995/2012
