Severed from the rest of what it was
I nab it, pulley-wheel it forty foot
to the top of the scaffolding. Just after eight,
the cars crawling over the flyover,
the sun will soon be level with me; here,
away from all forgettable activity below,
sat on this dry board I settle to my work.
What better place to be? What better options
for a board: a handy size for keeping out
next door’s cat, mixing cement on,
boxing in pipes or as a speaker shelf.
Once I’m done I’ll make it a Wet Paint sign,
or slip it behind the electric cupboard
in the basement for next time.
