Poem For The Weekend #33

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The houseboat tilts into the water at low tide,

ducklings slip in mud. Nothing is stable

in this limbo summer, where he leaves

his shoes in the flat. She decides to let

a room, the ad says only ten minutes to the tube,

I have a washing machine and a cat. The truth

more of a struggle than anyone cares to admit.

And everywhere progress: an imprint of cranes

on the skyline, white vans on bridges, the Shard

shooting up to the light like a foxglove

– Karen McCarthy Woolf