Spectator poems
From the magazine

Nightwatchman

Philip Hancock
EXPLORE THE ISSUE 01 November 2025
issue 01 November 2025

So as to not leave any marks

on the freshly emulsioned walls

by leaning the metal stepladder

against them, and to save me the groan

of starting next morning by heaving

it up off the floorboards and lugging it

into position, I stand it upright,

dead centre of the empty lounge

overnight, clothe the rungs

with my overalls; no better place

for my scaly gloves than snug

on the ends of both stiles, as though

waving or ready to grab you.