shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare


Alasdair is a mathematics academic in Australia, who writes poems when he can (that is, rarely). He has a particular interest in fixed forms, and enjoys exploring the tension between informal thoughts and formal structures. He maintains a mathematical blog, which sometimes includes poetry, at

Alasdair McAndrew


My autistic son running in the hall

his feet are slapping on the wooden floor
a rhythmic counterpoint to his panting
he runs up and down, up and down some more
and again like a tail-chasing dog, chanting
some wild inchoate mantra in his mind,
his eyes glassed with effort, on, on he sprints
turning like a swimmer at each end, blind
to waving arms, deaf to calls, giving no hints
of awareness outside himself, inward
looking only, clothes discarded, now nude
he runs and runs, all senses pitched forward
in his distant out-of-contact mood:
like a rat in a wheel, bereft of speech
nonstop, in a place far beyond our reach.