Hugh Fulham

Robert Klein Engler

Clock Wise

He watches the spinach trucks fill the road
around the town,
spewing out all over the dual carriage way.

This child would do little harm
wrenching the cogs
behind the one translucent face,
a cigar or lollypop
dangling from his lip,
he'd shove his sleeves back
with a sigh and think,
mature thoughts are boring
and poorly designed.
He'd draw up new plans
in the dusty floor,
including dragons and happy suns
and maybe a river as
the dragon must be thirsty
from all that fire.

Dinner's on the table
getting cold! He sticks his fists
in his heavy eyes.
The blue is running out.
He has loads of lines to fill
and stuck sweets from yesterday
in his pocket.

Hugh Fulham wrote this all by himself; he has poems in other places too, like juked, Triptych Haiku, Fuselit, thieves jargon and The Indite Circle (under the name hugh james). Hugh doesn't usually speak in the third person as that's just weird, although he sometimes makes exceptions for special situations.

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