Police Constable Henderson
shaking loose her bun
trails one hand in the water

the other holds an ice cream
which is melting
unnerving Sergeant Smith

a happily married man
a pillar of his community
who, nonetheless, is not made of wood

who, given half a chance
and under the right set of circumstances
if nobody was watching
and there were no security cameras

if only he could find the words

always red wool
always the same red
somewhere between wine and blood
she makes knots
long lines, sequences
whole balls of wool
and I'm thinking artwork
can see them in a gallery
dozens of strands
red strands
hanging on white walls
which is nonsense
which is me projecting
missing the point of her knots
that belong in a carrier bag
because that is where they live
of wine and blood
and what they mean
which is a secret
that she cannot tell

there's a physical equation
Newton's second law
that may go some way towards explaining
how these things got here
their crazy distribution
across this broken hill
that pall of rising smoke
nowhere near Leeds

broad oaks and playing fields
masters still in gowns

somewhere out of reach
they're chanting 'fight!'

a small boy
all spit and fists

wiping blood and snot away
staggers to his feet

refuses to stay down

synchronicity?
the conjunction of stars?
fickle finger of fate?
(lucky break)

it sounded terrible
roaring around
out there in the dark
rattling slates
shaking fences and trees
it sounded terrible
only it wasn't
not really, not here
in other places 
the storm applied itself
got stuck in
in other places 
it was newsworthy

they come when they will
in supermarkets or restaurants
in city crowds
sometimes in passing cars
always dressed as strangers

under these lights
he could be Prospero
that moustache
that pointed beard
might not be pasted on
ignore his shoes
stay with the illusion
believe the cards and doves
have just appeared
that the woman in the box
is just a stranger
and with a puff of smoke
she will be gone

a moment of weirdness
five seconds or so
where I'm all at sea
drunk as a lord
waiting for the parts of me
that stabilise and propel
to focus
to get their act together
untilt the room
which they do
which they eventually
and graciously do

that Laurel & Hardy sketch
the one with the piano

two men attempting the impossible
or the almost impossible

everything conspiring against them
gravity and distance - the piano is heavy

and there are many stairs
they try this way and that

become hot and tired
fail to communicate

shout, wave their arms, shrug, sigh
almost give up, but don't

in the end, the piano is destroyed