—Gradually, the water that was dripping stopped.
_ _ —I find it sheer torture to listen to those great marches of yesteryear.
—All I could hear were children screaming like emptiness in a cluttered house.
_ _ —My kids used to wild the curios til I had to kick them out.
—When the windows blew out, I ran for the door.
_ _ —What is it about children that makes them want to leave?
—In case of fire, we always said we’d meet under the blue spruce.
_ _ —What makes us think they never will?
—Everyone went missing when I reached for the binoculars.
_ _ —With my eyes closed I can see them climbing distant trees.
Anthony Caleshu is the author of a novella, a critical study of the poetry of James Tate, and two books of poetry, most recently: Of Whales: in Print, in Paint, in Sea, in Stars, in Coin, in House, in Margins. Current projects include a collection of stories and a new book of poems. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Boston Review, Narrative Magazine, AGNI Online, Poetry Review, and The Best British Poetry 2014. He is Professor of Poetry at Plymouth University in Southwest England. (updated 9/2014)