Cledwin Carnaby
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The firmness of Canterbury Tower rises from the frosted concrete,
Dribbles of claustrophobic steam puff into the air from crusted vents,
And the wind takes it,
Tracing it against the solidity of the giant,
Like the hands of an old hag guiding a blind lover,
Countless windows wink the sickly sun around the court,
And for each countless window a countless person,
Staring out of their hive,
Wings clipped,
Buzzing with contempt,
All around the giant hives buzz,
And at their centre Canterbury Tower stands firm.
Poem © 2000 David Gordon, all rights reserved
