PICKINGS

Poetry from NHI publications

THE WOODYARD
On the dome of the corrugated iron roof the pigeons are stalking and talking; cooing and wooing their mates. Sixty feet below the foreman inspects and checks the planking to the dull metallic rattle and clanking of a lorry loaded and groaning with wood. The circular saw is cutting and singing; a small thin apprentice is bringing a brew of strong hot tea for two of the men. Here cigarettes are barred in this, dry as tinder, inflammable yard. This wood caters from cots to coffins, for jerry-builders, craftsmen and boffins. Newly felled trees are sawn and stacked. The pigeons strut quite matter of fact.
MARGARET PERKINS

THE WOODYARD

On the dome of the corrugated iron roof
the pigeons are stalking
and talking;
cooing and wooing their mates.
Sixty feet below the foreman
inspects and checks the planking
to the dull metallic
rattle and clanking
of a lorry loaded and
groaning with wood.
The circular saw is cutting and singing;
a small thin apprentice
is bringing a brew of strong
hot tea for two
of the men.
Here cigarettes are barred
in this, dry as tinder, inflammable yard.
This wood caters from cots to coffins,
for jerry-builders,
craftsmen and boffins.
Newly felled trees are sawn and stacked.
The pigeons strut quite matter of fact.

MARGARET PERKINS

from
The Hallamshire & Osgoldcross Poetry Express #10

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