1941

Another early poem from Grub, 1993. This one won't be in the New and Selected.

My grandfather manned the ack-ack... Coming

home late, he would fish for his door key,

reeling it up on the end of its string.

When the Luftwaffe knocked on the door

and then walked in without waiting

like a neighbour come to borrow sugar,

dust and debris swam in the blacked-

out hall; but halfway up the stairs,

key, string and letter box lay intact.