The Interesting Case of Slow Harry

No one can remember when Harry disappeared,

all of him, gnarled as a pruning scar growing over

by the wood pile. A grey thrush was singing

pirated tunes, a wren bobbed like a cork

a blue flash of magician’s footlight powder

hiding the splitter ceasing. The last sounds drifting

in the cold porridge of passersby, some of whom

recalled a morning in developer’s fluid how

sheathes of bark fell on the fence,

an image in reveal then shadows whistling

sheathes of bark fell on the fence,

cowled remembrance in the garnish pleat

between daylight saving and Greenwich mean time

touching from behind.

If you liked The Interesting Case of Slow Harry, support James Walton by reading his previous works at The Ugly Writers: