Poem of the week

In the old-stone byre by the new extension,

one small-bunched bag of peat croquettes,

tight as the shite from wintry arses,

sits by piles of fresh-faced wood, shorn

at angles for the brick hearth evenings

to burn between the kindling and coal.

Then - a shock: two found hides, preserved

intact on pine shelving - deer and fox.

The first, without her trophied head, shapely

still as a queen come down from her hill-throne;

and the thin diamonds of the fox's eyes,

its soft-fold ears, its dried snout wanting a lick.

It is so cold in these rooms, these houses,

when the wind is all tumult down the stack.

All you can do is huddle and cowl

against it - build your fiery defences,

and understand the terrible impulse

to steal the skin from another animal's back.

In this poem the contrast is between the advert-perfect holiday home lifestyle and real nature; the cold draught seeping in from the wild domain outside sends a shiver down your spine. By Canadian-born poet Michael Venditozzi, it is to be found in the latest issue of Chapman magazine (5.50).

You can buy Chapman, and other Scottish literary magazines, from the Scottish Poetry Library. Tel: 0131-557 2876; e-mail [email protected] or visit www.spl.org.uk