Henry Shukman
Old War
He left in the little Fiat with the grated rear.
I closed my fingers over the back bumper.
I’m pushing you, Dad, I shouted.
Right-ho. He let out the clutch. She stood by the gate.
My sandals flashed, the engine gurgled, I smelled
the blue smoke, my hand tight round the chrome.
I called, I clung, he sped, something wrong, I couldn’t
let go, the grey road flitted under my beating shoes,
I leapt, I dived, I dragged, my knees, my toes, face, brow.
Shadows flicked over the asphalt, the edge ripped
from my fingers. I burned and off he roared.
She shrieked and ran, shoes clicking.
The car panted, impatient. His worsted knee on the tarmac.
I smelled his jacket’s prickly weave. A wail pierced the morning.
He tried to staunch it, keep it from the neighbourhood.
The trees behind their railings bloomed over us.
Something snapped. She took me from him. But lovey.
Shins a zigzag blade of blood, the knees a mess of skin and grit.
I was holding on, the cry went on. Later she sponged
the knuckles of scab, and tutted, and whispered.
I closed my fingers over the back bumper.
I’m pushing you, Dad, I shouted.
Right-ho. He let out the clutch. She stood by the gate.
My sandals flashed, the engine gurgled, I smelled
the blue smoke, my hand tight round the chrome.
I called, I clung, he sped, something wrong, I couldn’t
let go, the grey road flitted under my beating shoes,
I leapt, I dived, I dragged, my knees, my toes, face, brow.
Shadows flicked over the asphalt, the edge ripped
from my fingers. I burned and off he roared.
She shrieked and ran, shoes clicking.
The car panted, impatient. His worsted knee on the tarmac.
I smelled his jacket’s prickly weave. A wail pierced the morning.
He tried to staunch it, keep it from the neighbourhood.
The trees behind their railings bloomed over us.
Something snapped. She took me from him. But lovey.
Shins a zigzag blade of blood, the knees a mess of skin and grit.
I was holding on, the cry went on. Later she sponged
the knuckles of scab, and tutted, and whispered.
Henry Shukman’s collection In Dr No’s Garden was a Book of the Year in The Times and The Guardian, and won the Aldeburgh Poetry Prize in 2003. He has worked as a travelwriter and a trombonist, and recently won the Author’s Club First Novel Award with Sandstorm (Cape, 2005).
Page(s) 38
magazine list
- Features
- zines
- 10th Muse
- 14
- Acumen
- Agenda
- Ambit
- Angel Exhaust
- ARTEMISpoetry
- Atlas
- Blithe Spirit
- Borderlines
- Brando's hat
- Brittle Star
- Candelabrum
- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
- Coffee House, The
- Dream Catcher
- Equinox
- Erbacce
- Fabric
- Fire
- Floating Bear, The
- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
- Global Tapestry
- Grosseteste Review
- Homeless Diamonds
- Interpreter's House, The
- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
- London Magazine, The
- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Moodswing
- Neon Highway
- New Welsh Review
- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
- Oxford Poetry
- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
- Poetry Scotland
- Poetry Wales
- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The