My poem "The Satyr's Head" is absolutely inspired by an old Victorian garden that was very close to where I lived in Roehampton when I was growing up. So at the bottom of my block of flats, there was an old abandoned, derelict Victorian mansion, and in its garden there was this old fountain, and the fountain had this marble sort of statue within it, and it was the head of a satyr. A satyr is like a mythological creature which is half man, half goat, with big curly horns, and me and my friends were scared of it. So I wanted to write a poem inspired by the satyr, and this poem is called "The Satyr's Head." "The hidden garden we played in was bordered in red brick, crenelations of a faded fort, ivy-scarred and wind-aged, a Victorian garden. The towering walls tempted us to climb the bricks, testing their mortar. Forming steps and handholds, we climbed, urging frail frames against the height, then daring to drop to the spiky grass below, protected by a wisp of arrogance and armour of childhood. We danced in the light of the satyr's grin, the limestone detail of the fountain weathered and mean, the endless grimace of a fiend. The garden cloaked our tower block's stairs, its trees veiling the aerials and satellite dishes, its bricks a smokescreen to the traffic's roar, the yells of our mothers, its bushes covering up the smog, the jam sweet scent of winter berries disguising the stench from bins. We danced like our fathers told us we could, spinning in the dead leaves that spun from our steps like wry circus performers.".