Thanks for your careful reading Colin, you are right about the last line. I
have altered it after a sugestion from Barbara. To "and the same age as my
son". You are right about the "pecs" too, I should know this. I did have my
doubts about "and no builders bum" so will revise again. I am glad you like
it. Sally J
>From: hui dewar <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: Re: new sub Cradle snatching/Sally J
>Date: Wed, 7 Jul 2004 13:07:14 +0100
>
>Sally,
>
>I like this poem but I'm not sure about the last line. I suppose that even
>on the second reading and with the helpful title it comes across as too
>surprising. The first part of the poem is concise and vivid and comes with
>an amusing shift from the possibility of an elfin figure to the sexual
>athlete of the remainder of the poem. That's great because it's funny and
>because it reminds the reader that things are seldom as they seem. I might
>leave out the last line of S1 " but no builder's bum" because it is too
>serious and concrete and detracts a little from the energetic shift in gear
>in the lines preceding it. Peks should be pecs? BTW. Would Art in this
>context have a capital letter. I don't know. But it's worth checking and
>others might know for sure. To return to the last line, the line before it
>is excellent. It suggests the passage of time, wistfully apparent but then
>after that excellent penultimate line there is the confusing possibility
>that the man on the roof is the narrator's son (separated from his
>biological parents at birth, according to the title). Of course that could
>just be my defective reading of it. How about "friend of my son" or more
>elegant equivalent?
>
>BW
>
>
>Colin
>
>
>----- Original Message -----
>From: "Sally James" <[log in to unmask]>
>To: <[log in to unmask]>
>Sent: Tuesday, July 06, 2004 11:50 AM
>Subject: new sub Cradle snatching
>
>
>Cradle snatching
>
>For the last few mornings, I have seen him
>crouched upon the roof
>rat a tat tatting with his little hammer
>knocking in the nails
>placing the tiles upon the roof
>chest bare to the elements
>trousers fitting snugly, around
>his tight little arse
>showing a hint of blue boxers
>but no builders bum
>
>Sometimes he stops
>pat his peks
>wipes the sweat from his forehead
>
>When it drizzles
>his six pack ripples in the rain
>his hairless chest glistens
>like it has just been polished
>and a gold chain dangles around his
>neat little neck
>sways with the rhythm of his movements
>
>He is Art in motion
>the builder of lost dreams
>and some mother's son.
>
>Sally James
>
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