A poem by Clifford Forde

  Sunday Afternoon at the Pictures I remember that beginning in the darkening hall: we country boys, breathless, horses held on a tight rein, those hard-edged chairs in rows and our elbows tucked in; pockets bulging with small apples from the field,   our knuckles whitening – ready for the off. The usher with his torchlight rakes our jiggling knees, keeping us in line and … Continue reading A poem by Clifford Forde