Laurence Sims
Job
At first he was happy,
jerking about, pigeon-toed,
eyes glistening, shouting
things no-one could follow,
showing off like mad as
he rounded up stray trolleys
in the 8-till-8 superstore.
Now the fun’s over. There’s
only time to hunt them
down, herd them in long, silver
chains that keep dwindling.
People get in his way. It’s
hard not to hit them. All
day he frowns. Mutters.
Page(s) 34
magazine list
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- 14
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- Ambit
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
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- French Literary Review, The
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- Iota
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- Lamport Court
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- Magma
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- Modern Poetry in Translation
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- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
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- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Quarto
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- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
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- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The