Poem: ‘Grace’
Alison Brackenbury, 20 November 1986
Need, need, need. The soft grey stones Were laid in gates for carriageways. This western town needs silly money, Weightless frocks for summer time. By shabby doors the stones have sunk. Dodging new puddles from my road I see the low sky ripe with cloud.
Where I grew, there lived a woman Who taught in Chapel Sunday School. She and the preacher had ‘affairs’. Her long gaunt face...
