THE FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2005

 
Angela Cleland
THE CUTTERS
 

I was there. I saw them. Yes, it was me
that let the whole business get out of hand.
The cutters carried away, piece by piece,

my lawn, my herb-garden, my rockery,
laid them to waste, left me nothing to tend
– I was there, I saw them. Yes, it was me

that saw the river of green sails, of leaves,
run dry. Never guessed where it would all end.
The cutters carried away, piece by piece,

my entire house and home, by degrees:
roof, rugs, Frigidaire, walls, chairs, gable-end.
I was there, I saw them. Yes, it was me

that felt their tiny pincer jaws release
stitches, too tiny to bother to mend;
the cutters carried away, piece by piece,

my clothes, left me naked. Such little beasts
– you let them off with more than you intend.
I was there. I saw them. Yes, it was me
the cutters carried away piece by piece.

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