2 Poems by Robert Connal

A sonnet on unsteady buildings
On homeward roads the granite houses march,
their roofs pulled low against the lash of rain,
their windows streaming sea-spray, rustic arch
and cobbled path fence-deep in mud again.
They’re drunk. The town is famed for drunken homes,
its pavements wet with whiskey and its gutters
deep in rum. Each tilted building roams
the wine-dark streets some happy [...]