The Teddy Bear/ James Nixon


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.


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