I tried archery, once

I remember the burning of the bowstring
the bloody welt 
along the inside of my forearm
the arrow not really flying
a wobbling sort of flight 
falling short of the target
as Richard Greene
an outlaw in tights
stood beneath a spreading oak
hands on belted hips
and threw his head back
laughing

Published by colinhopkirk

Poet, writer, artist. Writing and performing in England, publishing anywhere. Member of Hexameter performing poets. Workshops, projects, cross-arts collaborations.

Leave a comment