July 10, 2017

Two Poems by Gareth Culshaw

The Incinerator Mirror

Today is burning day.
The incinerator will lift
its hat for cardboard, paper,
letters, newspapers and magazines.
Sometimes political leaflets

will be pushed in via the spout.
The smoke bellows then drinks
itself to a thinness only smoke
can explain. Near white exhaust before

limestone, then pigeon grey.
A breeze will pat it either way
as it doesn’t want any straightness
to come out of it. Ash builds up
at the bottom, a month’s worth

of pointless knees bends, dry oven
food and wasted words. The bin
changes complexion as the flames
go by. The steel bin becomes a mirror
and the time wasted on the unremarkable

ages my skin like sea salt on brinks of land.


It’s my time now, picking up,
wiping clean, mopping yesterday.
Opening out, locking in
bringing the sun to the door

as and when. They sit 
watching the photo albums
fall from their minds. Voices
been and gone, their lives

falling back down their throat
into a pit of darkness that they
are trying to stay away from. 
It’s my time now, picking up

the dead skin that has built
and hid in the corners of settees
thickened on window sills
greyed the in between on remote 

control buttons. Clouded the light 
bulbs that hang and sit. 
It’s my time now, picking up
the timeline they have seeded

and I ready myself to walk alone, 
until the next time. 

Gareth Culshaw lives in Wales. He has his first collection by futurecycle in 2018. 


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