The maturing teddy bear hangs from the fence
of the sedentary school like a kind of question.
A question that an unusually drunk man might
ask of a flash-banged pub of punters. A question
that a buffered mother might ask of sunflowers.
A question that might make some holy man sit
for a while and then stand and address a group.
This week it’s the lop-sided space hopper’s turn
as it yearns in the centre of a playground that’s
quieter than anything that a despairing father
might shout into – a night, a sky, a tumble dryer.
Read James Nixon’s bio here.