It comes at least a thousand times a day, An hour even. Sometimes plaintive, sometimes insistent Always delivered with just …
When it’s over. A poem by Fran Bardsley
Memory is a fickle mistress Today, in my room as a tantalising ray of sunshine tempts me to break out, …
The day the libraries closed. A poem by Fran Bardsley
“Take 20” she said “For each card” No charges or late fees. I ransacked the shelves There were some gaps …