© Gerry Cambridge         Dead man’s beer   They were bundled in a bag for life in the garage, thirty yellow-black tins of …

        Grief is like a miracle   like opening your mouth for water, and finding rain. You stand for days outside the body …

        Flyleaf, Tractatus   I. A flock of birds down where it’s still, where, each morning, fishermen throw their nets into the river, …

        The shouts   Somewhere, of course, someone is dancing. No, no; not us. Door handles bark and women seem Like babies. Moon. …

        Happy Birthday   …You clear them away, usher in a future not featuring you. Michael Laskey, ‘Birthday Cards’   While hunting the …

        The Train   The concern, unspoken amongst us, was whether goodwill would hold. We’d been on the road for weeks; children walking …

    Waterland   There are still pike in Jesus Ditch. The length of three finger-joints, quicker than dactyls. Gone before you can say ‘Jack …

        Dear Mother You’re Dying   You are wasting away, you have cavernous sinuses and hollow flesh. Eat gracefully: there are those that …

        Death of a Trophy Hunter   Over the kill the larvae loom she posted on Instagram before the blood congealed, paid in …

         Urban   Drawn to our open lawns and clipped verges, the spectral profusion of a well-stocked border or neat geometrical bed, …