« Christian Ward » Goodnight, Mr Prufrock Rain falls as the night unfolds, glazing the fading cattle with specks of starlight. We pass rows of disappearing hedgerows, unaware the world is shrinking around us, until it is nothing but the left-over memory of our final journey to the land of the naked dead. (First published in Down in the Dirt) The Yellow Fox The forest is silent as an image from a postcard, our only audience here are trees and falling snow. As we start to renew the tracks we made yesterday, I hear sunlight rummaging through the branches, following us like an invisible fox to places that will soon be forgotten. And as the snow melts, all that’s left is you - a poem shaped out of things I never knew I had. Mr Kurtz You saw him in a Brighton cafe, sipping tea as the waves collided with the beach. There was something strange about the way he looked you told me, as if he had escaped from a film. You could see that in his eyes, thin slivers of yellow, carefully hidden under bug-eyed sunglasses. You never did follow him. When I asked why, you said you had seen your reflection in him, curled up like a slave trapped in a bamboo cage. And no one was there to let it out. Christian Ward is a second year English & Creative Writing student at Chichester University in England, UK. His interests include, reading, writing and watching films. Some of his poems have appeared in anthologies.