The 10 o’clock train was running late
Steam bellowed, clock hands ticked
The page on the table was blank, unwritten
Taking a pen determined to fill a void
His name was Jeffery Lloyd
Or should I say, my name was Jeffery Lloyd
Which might be somewhat misleading.
This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line. At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email firstname.lastname@example.org if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you.