The Street

Square gardens, fenced by
box hedging. Wooden gates
stand with snipping tongues.

Steps lead to plastic doors.
Solar panels lie on rooftops
collecting the sun.

Neighbours slow down
the street. Weight of years

rubs away the tarmac. Two
runs of terraced lives. Sown
together by cement and sweat.

People’s bones run along each
other, their voices suspend
from open windows.

Gareth Culshaw lives in Wales. He hopes one day to achieve something special with the pen.

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