Monday, December 7, 2009

the night we took fish from our own river and the police came

what a black night
thick rain
branches knocking windows
water tearing through gutter pipes

a car’s engine roared up the hill
and blue lights came flashing
into the farmyard
I grabbed both beautiful sewin
ran upstairs
to hide them
under my sleeping sister’s bed
and back down to the kitchen
full of teenagers in raincoats
where I watched the porch door open
saw a fishing gaff propped
against the inner door
and someone stepped quickly over
as if in greeting
to hide the gaff with his body from view

the policeman entered
looked around
wishing us noswaith dda a good evening
asked about our neighbour
at the next farm
what we knew about him
whether we had seen him

my father said he came for milk
twice a week
carrying his can

it was hard looking innocent
when so many of us were
dripping on the floor
fresh blood pooled
on the kitchen table
the policeman did not mention poaching
had bigger fish to fry
he told us
our neighbour had been on the run
for years
was wanted for murder
wore a wig
carried a loaded


  1. Wonderful! Thrilling! Another excellent poem - I really love your work. :)

  2. Your poem does more than describe. It draws the picture; I was able to see clearly things such as the dripping on the floor, the blood on the table.

    The twist at the end surprised. Very well done!

  3. You captured rural England very well and the images it brought to mind were fantastic. It's all sounds very familiar yet it is something that I've never experienced.

    Wonderful poem.

  4. Thank you! It happened the autumn we moved to Wales.