By Samuel W. James:
The water’s a long way from the road,
through fields and a wood without a path
where dry twigs aim for the eyes.
There are ditches filled with brambles
to be leapt over, before the green snakeskin
of the pond appears.
In a stream connected with the main body
there is some clear, though still, water
where the white flesh of a great dead pike rots.
No bubbles disturb the weeds of the surface
which seem to be the food of the insects.
On the other side the wood ends
with plastic blue electric fence markers.
Samuel W. James is a new writer from Yorkshire. He has been published in the following magazines: Allegro, London Grip, Peeking Cat and Ink, Sweat and Tears.