You woke one night to railway tree surgeons
giving the trees by the track their yearly trim
with their hybrid carriage of mechanical limbs.
It was half like Megatron of the Decepticons
and half a visitation of the archangel Metatron
wailing sawdust with jazzy chainsaw hymns
whimsically besetting the trees around him
just as it was all kicking off in your abdomen.

You watched the surgeons in their orange vests
chucking sapling after sapling into the chipper,
and asked me what they did with fallen nests.
I stayed in bed, watching you in your slippers,
with a silhouette so stark against the window
for one brief moment I mistook it for a halo.

Eoghan Walls is an Irish poet. Educated in Wales and Ireland, he has since lived in Rwanda, Germany and Scotland. He won an Eric GregoryAward in 2006, and has been shortlisted and highly commended in many other prizes, including the Manchester Poetry Prize, The Bridport Prize and the Wigtown International Poetry Prize. His first collection, The Salt Harvest (Seren 2011) was shortlisted for the Rupert and Eithne Strong Award for Best First Collection. Currently he lives in Lancaster with his wife and daughters, where he lectures Creative Writing at Lancaster University.

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