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Thomas Whitbread



Autumn 1958 | Poetry

After a mid-string broke in my squash racquetMy shots were more effective, being less hard,And I won the match. I did not soon repair it,Seeing the virtue of its being marred. After the hammer snapped that hits the B-stringIn my piano, next to mid [...]


Autumn 1958 | Poetry

    The delicate corner shot,Slicing the strings precise across the ballAt the right time, so that it lightly hits        On one side wall,    Kisses the front, then fallsQuick-dying down, most irretrievable, [...]