This poem is taken from Stand 220, 16(4) November - December 2018.

Roger Garfitt Three Poems
Prisoner of War Work
from Norman Cross Prison, Peterborough


All around him men are gambling
their rations away.

He keeps his head down, waits
for first light between the bars

to return him to the afternoon
he is working towards, his scale model

of a day like any other. So far off now
he had to set it like a loft of heaven

over two great wheels, each of them
a storey high, as if that's all home was,

a platform over the world’s engines
− or his skill and patience over

the good people of Peterborough,
whose generosity he must harness
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