They changed our address one rainless summer,
Steep garden walls made an exercise yard.
Clay spoil-heaps of throwing ammunition
Good for ballistic puffs of impact dust.
I made a dug out of wall foundations
With a roof of perforated iron,
Lined inside by a ‘borrowed’ travel rug
Soil woven into its Fair Isle pattern.
In truth a hideout not that inviting
Mainly a target for earth bombardment.
I wheeled a barrow as armoured vehicle
Incessant crossing would grind this quadrat
To dust that coated every flexure.
By aiming my gaze fixedly downwards
To screen out the incongruent present
Anachronisms and all that shouting,
My blinkered gaze became TV programme
An arid western or a desert war.
Humming incidental background music
With whistles, exploding cries, then silence.
Zooming in and out, retreat, invasion.
For days on end my hair was matted
Though it might seem I was becoming earth,
I was really becoming battlefield.
Of course later on were social bunkers
Clubrooms for bonding and early smoking
Some youths I knew then would go down the pit.
But this lone primeval den was different
Sun rays of dust in Brownian motion.
Working-through, or was it dirty protest
Against the indoor despairing fury.
Eddy Dreadnought, 2014
This work was submitted by artist Eddy Dreadnought in response to the Microhabitats symposium on March 28th 2014.