This poem is taken from Stand 244, 22(4) December 2024 - February 2025.

Harold Hoefle Days in Cork
Rain and light pour straight down.
Human sounds burble.  Beyond earshot,
bones, flesh and earth churn.  Here, rules try
to make life proper.  In the pub, no tracksuits.
A woman slams a door, changes a keg.  Rain
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