Poetry

Men in sheds

The men in sheds are at it again
blossoming in confession like petal tablets on the tongue

They do it in secret
When the sky is cloaked with grey
(For they thrive in competition)

All it takes is an axe in palm
perhaps a ball on foot
for the truth to ricochet

And we see it on his face
the curving of his spine
like a fetus
or a black dog
or a cloud
(filled with tears)

Evie Wilson