The Watchers

Three young girls lean on a fence
Eye the distance that has no end,
Each thin and unfinished
Like a drawing of herself –
Heat draws up the scent of tar,
A good weather day in sodden bad,
But the roadway’s hard with traffic
And too sudden, so they stay –
The smallest tries to climb
To the head-height of the tallest girl,
The sailing wind of our hot car
Throws out their hair –
The road is between them
And the indescribable miles,
A threshold of skippy pebbles
Every car tyre flicks and rolls –
One is climbing to be taller than herself:
The weather’s humming from
The West, where rain and bombs
Are born, and shortly
When we’re long gone,
The first plump drops will make them squint,
And someone will shout
Out of the brick cottage,

And they’ll go in.

^

Biography

Fred Johnston is a poet and fiction-writer. His latest poetry collection, Being Anywhere - New & Selected Poems (Lagan Poetry) was published in early 2002.; He is Director of the Western Writers Centre in Galway City. A copy of his new CD, "Get You", in which he performs a number of traditional songs and ballads, is now available. Contact Fred for details at sylfredcar@iolfree.ie