Ken Allen
For his next trick he conjures himself, unseen,
from inside the locked cell to outside, scaling
the holdless walls by some subtle sleight
of his four hands until somehow, suddenly,
he’s grinning beside the punters like somebody’s
hairy ginger brother, posing for photos
before being chased by keepers in a crazy
Keystone Cops routine. His shaggy magic
is powerless to keep him free, though, let alone
to resurrect each felled tree, to redress
his bare ancestral lands in deepest green.