This poem is taken from Stand 221, 17(1) March - May 2019.

Jeffrey Wainwright Poem
The Plan

A white towel on a washing-hoist
bearing some blurred shadows.

This is but one thing occurring
within the folder of the day,
and of the continent,
and of as far as we can think.

And of course I am watching it now,
liking how the shadows
pause and surge, agitate and swoon,
focus briefly then slide off the edge.

But I am committed also
to common thought
and so am bound to ask how come this,
or anything, is occurring.
What is the plan?

The hoist moves left then right,
two steps one way and two the other,
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