The Recyclers

The Recyclers

Christopher Barnes

Boys heavy-eyed on the hay,
budging, spring – they’ll step
to the ladder of morning,
warily cold-shouldering the doorposts,
stretching from their nest
- a discarded Coke can –
to swim the hours till noon.

Against fun-loving wind
is the punched out way in.
Fizzy sunlight rims factory-built aluminium.
Tube-vault grey fits to the decking,
a dross of patted hay.

Distant, a whistle of rivers
flat-out to piers.