Crannog / No - Crannóg

Crannóg No 7 winter 2004
Two thousand Year Stare Andrew Oldham
Glass vision: turned over in chocolate soil,
the boy who bought penny sweets is still
running down coffin ginnel, hollering,
with hand in crook of arm, barrelling
through a game of soldiers,
shoulders stuttering between mouthfuls
of warm caramel that trickles down his chin,
pushing forwards and outwards through coffin end
into streets that are seasons.
Spring Street: he lurches, balloons
between the thighs of his daydreams,
tosses wax lips at neighbourhood kids,
jumps down across the potholes into
Summer Street: he runs, wind
in hair without a care of grenades,
his hand moving fast and sharp, sniping
through cracks in the boarded up houses on
Autumn Street: where the eaves are camouflage brown
and all the doors are painted khaki, blasting holes
in the cinder block macadam and net curtains
that twitch like the wings of angels, carry him up
Winter Street. Not a house left, just holes
in the ground, a crossword puzzle of
two ups and two downs.
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