By Toby Buckley


On Wednesday, my neighbours clatter

in again at odd hours.

I hear their flat creak,

fit to burst with the unplanned clutter

of twenty bodies (give or take)

in a single-bedroom flat.

A head here, a foot there,

cooing at each other through air thick

with bodies and movement,

scratching on their stained mattress,

crashing around the room –

kids in a playground

or junkies in a nightclub.

The evening sun glints

off their feathers

like mother of pearl

or oil spilt on water.

I wonder if they pay rent. 





Toby Buckley is studying an MA in the Seamus Heaney Centre in Belfast. His work has previously been published in The Open Ear, The Tangerine and HCE Review. He is currently working with Belfast Pride.