THE ROUNDS 


 
His bag emptier with every street.


Socks sagged around his ankles.


The lever in, slip, release


over and over.


 
Odd numbers, even numbers, rusty


hinges. Wind battered gates that 


knocked their whole lives. Seeing 


 
the sun spread itself over his daily


plot. The snip of a latch, clock turn


handle, heave the hinge-less, walk


 
through the gate-less, unbolt


the formal. Listening to the barking


and cawing, the snap of car lock.


 
Taking it all in his stride, the passing


of the unknown. Wearing away 


his years until he himself slips 


 
and drops. 


Gareth lives in Wales. He is an aspiring writer who has his first collection out in 2018 by futurecycle.