Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Forecast

I think that it could snow forever,
      she said.
I did not reply but watched
her cigarette smoke slowly rise
into the lamp shade.
A plate of bones and crinkled tin foil
grew cold and sticky on the table,
the windows black
like blowholes in the frozen arctic.

I thought of a painting I once saw,
a sailing ship its rigging thick with rime
propped up on white jagged shoals.
Tiny men were dragging boxes
of hardtack and brined meat
      out over the bulwark
down onto the vast ice,
strapping blankets round their pant legs
with thick rope.

It might, I said,
There's places
where the snow has never stopped.

It would be very silent.
She crushed her cigarette.
I listened and the windows whispered
with the voices of the city.
      Cars
and creaking bicycles, people
singing, drunk already, music
from a bar across the street.

There had been snow in the forecast.
We would have to see.
You ok?, she asked.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

I had never been so scared.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

And there it is

He looked down at the blood dripping from his fingers onto the wet tarmac. A voice said, somewhere, ...and there it is.

There was a quiet approval in those words he had longed to hear again for weeks now, but he couldn't quite remember why or who the voice belonged to. He remembered the face he saw at his feet though. He remembered the blue dress and the soft breasts.

As if a large hand was put on his shoulders, the hazy warmth of the drugs rolled over him again.

You did alright, son, the voice said and then all other memories faded.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Another love song


but go out in the hasty silence
of the town that rains

for now
to be a witness to the beat of time

a child
will answer echoes in the concrete underpass

as her mother
waits the rain out in the blue mist of her phone

ride on
past the cemetery and the soccer fields

ride on
when a roebuck leaps across the road

bridging the canal
out into the fields where distant sunlight

lying
like a pall over the far edge of the land

is held
by wind and water in a thousand hands

it never stops
this time but the rain does

and there is nowhere
to hide

(edited 26052015)

Thursday, December 4, 2014