Gary W Hartley was born in Leeds, but is currently holed up in London. He's a trained journalist and failed stand-up comedian. Recent publications can be found in Poetry Monthly International, The Delinquent, Aireings, Sparkbright and Poetry Combination Module.
Shop dummy alive stares into the window its former home gardener cuts grass with leaves leaving no blade unturned mother sucks the tear back in to wash away the sleep in her eye dog enters a hifi store and requests a sub woofer these are some of the things happening on a street reassuringly far away from you.
What’s in a name…Scraping another one, androgynous this time, into a breezeblock with that new claw hammer and it just stares back, no answers…cutting several out of bread using scissors and toasting them burnt – each of these male and childlike, but little truth in youth, in char…the female ones sitting there, waiting fate and tools and probable ignominious blank…if we find out somehow we can predict the rest, name everything something better than it was before
I came back from the dead for this? Yeah and you better wait in line too Mr.
No not that line, this one. That’s the express checkout, 10 items or less.