3 January 2012


We fought hard for January,
past the graffitied hoardings
by the railway bridge,
through the paper-plate parties
and fuggy hangovers.
We held our nerve,
saw it advance upon the horizon,
its chink widening.

We allowed January
the dignity of no coloured lights,
left it unfussed,
a slow white month,
secretive and gestating.
And while shops relaxed
their tightfist of goods,
we plucked from January
the last silver squiggle of tinsel.

© Katie Griffiths

No comments:

Post a Comment