by Tom Harding

Published in Issue No. 226 ~ March, 2016

I found the last radio

Out amongst the forgotten things;

It’s insides empty

But the smooth mahogany body intact.

I carried it home

And kept it beside my bed,

Each night pressing my ear

To it’s cool cavity to hear

The sound of pine trees

Blowing back and forth

And the pulling of black waves

Carrying me to sleep.

Some nights it would howl

Like storm winds through a damp cave,

Other nights I’d wake

To the clatter of it across the floor

And swear I’d see some shape,

Light as a fox,

Slip from its shell

Into the shadows of the room.

account_box More About

Tom Harding lives in Northampton UK where, when not working, he writes poetry and draws. Tom has been published in various places including Parameter Magazine, Identity Theory, Unlikely Stories and Nthposition. He also maintains a website of his own work at tomarianne.net.