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Next Issue Thomas Kinsella in conversation Jeffrey Wainwright comes to grips with St Chad Hsien Min Toh gives us a Korean perspective Iain Bamforth on Lou and Fritz: Sensible Shoes meets Starstruck Judith Bishop on Love and Self-Understanding in an Algorhythmic Age

This poem is taken from Poetry Nation 4 Number 4, 1975.

Dirge Michael Cayley

The minutes are falling now, the hours are falling.
On the way home breadwinners barter the worn phrases
that shield them like off-the-peg suits or overalls,
drain half-a-pint of bitter and have one more.

The curtains are drawn now, the suppers are over.
Light snow spatters the windscreens in the streets
and drips through old bus tickets and cigarette ends
into the gutters in the dark.
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