I huff puffed up the newly treeless hill
Unthinking of the change from verdant lush
To parched hardscrabble. Bailiff ants remove
Last remnants of the old guard’s ferny home.
A faulty pedal clanks at every turn
Reminding me of all that isn’t right.
It’s how I manage on this sort of trip.
By nature sedentary, I have to pound
Rory’s latest poem is based on a trip he took to Shanghai in 1986 in his best, crumpled, clothes…
I cursed my prudence, wished I’d blown A fortnight’s wages on a flight And not been sat in […]
No traveller should read the health chapter of a guidebook. I had made this mistake and consequently fretted […]
I usually can predict what people choose
And she had seemed less lumpen than the run
Of those who shop here, rarely untattooed…
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