Worn wolf, I worry them for everything,
Smashed milk, the unwashed jumper,
Each outlawed print on washed tiles not forgiven.

But how the ambulance cries on Lansdown Road,
Dodging the ruby lights, the builder's van.
Wild, to our final breaking we are driven.

Alison Brackenbury

If you've any comments about this poem, Alison Brackenbury would be pleased to hear from you.