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This poem is taken from PN Review 17, Volume 7 Number 3, January - February 1981.

Eight Englynion David Holloway

HERON

A bone-white silhouette survives the reeds.
Vole rings have no answer.
Luck's the only theatre-
stoop, gaff, the throat of laughter.

GANDER

Neck stiff as a pole, zipfastener teeth-
off my land, you town jerk,
or your calf will do for starters,
and that lush bum as a perk!

FROST PIECE

Sun snipes from leaves, on stopped windscreen wipers.
Old sailors reach for rye.
Kids skate, mufflered to the eyes.
Vapour trails take days to die.

GUY FAWKES NIGHT

He looks up, his eyes flowering rockets.
That memory's the crook
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