Two Poems
Bill Manhire, 9 May 2002
A cry comes again from the pavilion. I was that nurse and that civilian, I was the song in the carillon. She sat on a tree trunk; no, a boulder. I was the heart inside the soldier, that broken arm – that hand, that shoulder. Night which is moonless, melancholy. I was the man who was extraordinary. But who really knows the real Billy Connolly?
Creative Non-FictionThe...