He lives in the last
house where every stone
in the street
has been thrown
through a window
at least twice
once to come in
and once when
he throws
it back outsome of them have specks
of blood
theirs or his
in the last house
there is no more glass in the frames
and no movement
anywhere
against the western sky
but for the flight
of stones
40.0: INTERLOCUTOR
Guest poetry editor: Libby HartRelease date: 1 November 2012
Index of poems
Featured artists: Melanie Scaife and James Bonnici





Really enjoyed this. Reminded me of the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”. I have felt like that house at times