Rachael Clyne

New Poundland

A local farmer paid to dump a row
of boulders, that after quiet years,
stop walkers parking
by the sedge and willow path.
Just spite, when other means
of access were possible.

With a boulder in my chest, I wake
to find I am in Poundland
where cheap promises deck shelves.
No longer a sanctuary for migrant birds,
only flimsy products, no-one really wanted.

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