This is a powerful collection giving an insight into a Wales ill at ease with itself, removed from the
chocolate box image of tourist Wales
or the glass façade of Cardiff Bay.
Some examples
Platform Couple
While winter clings like frost on glass
here, in mid-morning brightness, a couple
seek the shade of platform-shelter to pass
the dragging hours with the cans’ hiss-pull.
They’re would-be escapologists of Valley Lines;
as others leave, each with a sense of purpose
neatly stacked, they slurp fast and bind
and they’ll try to break free before the time
when the brew is sunk; they throw
the empties onto tracks, it appears
as if they’ll fall before they know
the way to travel outside their cares.
And if they stumble, who’ll halt the driver,
who’ll stanch blood spurting like lager?
The Kind Exit
We need the bed.
To make way.
Over eighty, I’m afriad.
Economics.
Reality.
A quick injection.
Diamorphine.
The kind exit.
Save your bills.
No Old Folks’ Home.
Waiting lists, of course.
Pressure from above.
We’re not to blame.
Pneumonia.
Caught on the ward.
The old people’s friend.
We need the bed.
Oxygen. A drip.
Even water’s spat out.
It’s for you to decide.
One way or the other.
Euthanasia?
We deplore the word.
Other priorities,
Bed-blocking.
It’s for the best.
Crack the whip.
Sign here.
Keep your capital.
Move somewhere nice.
I apologize.
We need the bed.
