‘Well!’ said Will to the wall,
but the wall said nothing at all to Will.
*
‘Forsooth!’ The Count of Monte Cristo eyed his cell
with calculation. He’d heard the tapping,
had decided escape was a matter of style
and special attention. No mortar could withstand his stare.
Nothing would love him as much again
as the wall he seduced, that became his door.
*
When pushed, the wall said ‘Nothing’ to Will
who, shocked, could only manage a ‘Well!’
*
Kerrunch! Now that’s talking.
A cartoon cat
is a concertina played by a fall
and hitting top C. It’s broom-handle
heart attack, yoiks! and kerpow!
It’s saying: fantasy’s all very well,
you may think you’re an arrow
but a wall’s in the way
and the literal’s stronger, remember.
Splatt! Now.
*
Once it had started to talk, the wall
couldn’t stop itself. Will listened well.
*
And overnight these words appeared
in day-glo spray paint:
PC Evans is a sad man.
PC Davies needs a vasectomy
and this on the station. Now I know
I’m just a cleaner, but stones cry out
their truthfulness. I’m paid
to hush them. Best thing is, my fee
doesn’t cover insistence. See, the next day
it’s Evans who needs a vasectomy
and D. is a pansy.
Nothing at all to do with me,
but there’s gold in them graffiti.
*
In winter the crack let in the slugs
and sky to the kitchen. The garden looked lush
through the chink, less slum
than tropical. Mysterious glair
jazzed up the carpets. The slugs themselves,
of course, were never there.
*
Well, thingummy, thingummy Will tum wall.
Ti tum wall thingummy thingummy Will.
*
Been swimming so long this water’s a wall
that I can see through.
Kick, tumble turn and breathe,
pulling so fast that I’m standing still.
Repeat it all as before and turn.
Bricked up inside this barricade
I’m climbing swiftly on liquid ropes
but going nowhere. Don’t look down
in case I remember the air and drown.
*
And it was well between Will and the wall,
so we all came to sit and stare with Will.
*
When I die I shall bequeath a wall
to this village so the kids with their balls
can do rebound practice. What else is there to do
out in the country? I’ll site it carefully,
away from the houses, so the structure can ring
with ricochet, swoop, reverse catch and swing
and kids will play on when the adults’ eyes
have lost sight of the grid for which they aim
on summer evenings. In time their game
will become its own end and, piece by piece,
will dismantle the inner carapace
that has kept their souls from the wider view
not behind my memorial wall but through
its structure. Balls bounce back
at predictable angles, thoughts recoil
at the barricade’s blankness, an inner door
swings open. All you have to do is stare
for long enough and everything’s there.