Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Fred bobs about in his orange hard hat 

like the sun, dispelling shadows, 

works the digger with the grace of a waltz 

and intricacy of a quick step, 

displays a carefully crafted sign, 

‘This hole is not a map of invasion or a mass grave.’ 

Viewed from above,  

Fred’s hole is the shape of a kite 

and might take off at a given signal. 

If you touch the sides, they play ‘Oom Pah Pah’. 

Not so much a hole as inner ear announcing carnival 

or it could be a womb or a wishing well, 

where children queue with pennies. 

As for pipes,  

Fred says tree roots will do.