Isaac
Walkley
(1785 – 1840)
Isaac Walkley, an ancestor
of the poet, was accused in 1828 of "feloniously
cutting and maiming [...] Hugh HAYNES in the face
with a knife the said Hugh HAYNES
there acting as a constable of the parish of Horsley." Walkley's
trade was butchery.
|
A notched knife unzips the glistening meat,
Nipping at the marbled
ligaments,
Separates the snowy fat from
spongey flesh.
His clumsy sabots click upon
the tiled floor,
He hangs the crimson cuts on
upcurved hooks
From a low ceiling coldly
curling down.
A cat slides through the
door to lap at blood
Coagulating in tiny lukewarm
pools
Beneath the counter’s oaken
immensity.
The village church is
cranked into life,
The bleating bells nag us to
damp prayers
Within those clammy walls,
and the braying priest
Who’s locked in jackdaw suit
and white collar.
And maybe later in the woods
a fumbling
Attempt at tree-obscured
congress with
The furniture
maker’s reckless daughter.
Saul Hughes
If you have any comments on this poem, Saul Hughes would be
pleased to hear them.
