From the kitchen door of the holiday let,
down the hill, over roof tops, on a clear day,
are the summits of the mainland’s mountains;
from the front door the gaol’s stone grey massif;
above the cottage’s small courtyard,
where the privy was and now are festive lights
and a hot tub burbling, is a square of sky.
Around the corner in Steeple Lane
high in the prison wall is a door,
with rivets either side to hold the scaffold
when it was needed.