Tag Archives: plastic

24th October 2013 – scanner

Posted on October 25, 2013 by Liz Terry

I slide into it smoothly, its sides pinning my arms. Above me, two pale cream strip lights gleam, trying to be reassuring. A single dark scratch on the hard plastic surface hangs above my face. I close my eyes, hoping … Continue reading →

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged arms, dark, drift, eyes, face, gleam, hangs, MRI, open, pale cream, pinning, plastic, reassuring, scanner, scratch, slide, smoothly, spacious, strip lights, surface | Leave a comment

16th October 2013 – toy car

Posted on October 17, 2013 by Liz Terry

It slides into a shaft of sunlight and stops dead. Its plastic bodywork glows bright orange in the light, headlights glinting. A child’s hand appears and its moment in the sun is over.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged bodywork, bright orange, child's hand, glinting, glows, headlights, light, moment, over, plastic, shaft, slides, stops dead, sun, sunlight, toy car | Leave a comment

8th October 2013 – walker

Posted on October 9, 2013 by Liz Terry

He pushes a bright red, plastic train on wheels. A blue dummy hangs from his mouth. He smiles at his mother as she bends down to remove it. Stiff-legged with the newness of walking, he toddles up the gentle slope.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged bends, blue, bright red, dummy, gentle, mother, mouth, newness, plastic, pushes, remove, slope, smiles, stiff-legged, toddles, train, walker, walking, wheels | Leave a comment

26th July 2013 – toys

Posted on July 27, 2013 by Liz Terry

They bob on the pool’s surface, abandoned. Plastic primary colours contrast with the sunlit, brilliant blue of the water. The joyful babies who played with them are gone, but still they float, awaiting their return.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged abandoned, babies, bob, brilliant blue, float, gone, joyful, plastic, played, primary colours, return, sunlit, surface, swimming pool, toys, water | Leave a comment

14th May 2013 – hand

Posted on May 15, 2013 by Liz Terry

A tiny baby’s hand curls itself around the handle-post on the bus. The pink little fingers, brand new and tipped with their perfect little nails, stand out against the plastic, orange garishness of the post. Both man-made, yet one so … Continue reading →

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged baby's hand, brand-new, bus, everywhere, garish, handle-post, little fingers, man-made, orange, perfect little nails, pink, plastic, precious, there, unique | Leave a comment

19th January – family

Posted on January 20, 2013 by Liz Terry

The woman carries a bright red plastic sledge, the ridges on its base white with snow. From behind her skips a little girl, dressed head to toe in pink. She stops dead and turns towards her mother, then falls straight … Continue reading →

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged angel, child, frozen, girl, mother, pink, plastic, red, sledge, snow, woman | Leave a comment

9th January 2013 – litter

Posted on January 10, 2013 by Liz Terry

A small, peach coloured plastic bag, tied in a rough knot at the top, sits guiltily on the inside edge of the pavement. Left by a lazy dog-walker, it draws my attention to the scurf of litter along the side … Continue reading →

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged apathy, broken bottle, cans, cereal box, cereal boxes, dog, indifference, jetsam, knot, litter, peach, plastic, rubbish | Leave a comment

Tag Archives: plastic

24th October 2013 – scanner

16th October 2013 – toy car

8th October 2013 – walker

26th July 2013 – toys

14th May 2013 – hand

19th January – family

9th January 2013 – litter

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