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Left Upon A Seat In A Yew Tree
paul t conneally
walking the beach
after their son's death
piled up stones
left by the last high tide
two empty bottles
bikini line
curling waves break
against the shore
here they sit
beneath these gloomy boughs
thistles in bloom
sharing jokes and needles
through the afternoon heat
lost in the middle
of this new housing estate
an aged oak
we pass seats
placed here in memory of
husbands and wives
all along the pathway
glancing sand-pipers
juniper berries
a stone chats call
from the heath
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