I was never going to be Miss Scotland
Specky Four Eyes weren’t winners
Scribblers maybe, collectors definitely
A Christmas beetle in a box
A numinous smell in a suitcase
Joined-up writing in a red rubber band
But how do you store the sound of rain
On a hot tin roof
Or the rocking of an iron horse that had long lost its mane
And most of its tail?
SANDERLINGS 