Drawing by Judith Wolfe
Peter Roberts

Poem


      JERICHO

      The isobars are narrowing,
      chilling the room,
      turning faces pale
      as a coarse silence
      rides draughts

      Deep lows, slow troughs,
      crawl like insurgents,
      plant devices with
      timers - dissolve
      into the carpet ­

      I want to run outside
      and circle, get the
      furniture off my back,
      let the gales and rain of
      a visible cold front
      blow through me and
      in the hurdy gurdy of
      noise and debris ­
      watch the house
      teeter and fall.


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