Pavement Tourist

Under the metal.
storm grate –
the water gently flows; through
the old brick channels

I stand, listening,
reminding myself of
walks long ago, of
waves breaking on the
seaside sands.

Looking up, I notice the
grey,
concrete,
monolithic buildings,
and I realise how
far away
my memories are.

Past life

The desperate mind
Alone,
cold,
watching
The others following
cruelty

Time to hide
from
our fear
of joy’s
continuation

I ran to keep up
But the vision has gone.
A bleeding heart with
no farewell

Amended 1 May 2005

city life

In the upstairs room of the
battered housing, the
man stands, looking towards the
small municiple yard.

A small bricked garden, shared
with his neighbours, leads up to an
ancient crumbling wall, behind which
there is another house.

The man looks, side to side, back and
forth, yet sees nothing to change this
pattern. He wonders if the others are
also looking out?

Untitled

Staring at the handset failed to make it any easier. But this time… surely she would realise that what she’d said was a bluff – a good one, mind – and that really she did feel for me in the same way as I her.

Thinking, indeed promising myself that this would be the last, definite, final time that I phoned that day, and actually believing once again that I would get a positive response from my advances, I dialled the number. The belief was so strong, so certain.

After the rotations finished and the line could be heard crackling with its connection, I awaited with a fast beating heart the ringing to begin, and the promise of a new start to be fulfilled. It would be so marvellous.

The phone rang, harshly, at the other end of the line, and the handset slipped in my hand, my heart racing faster, and as I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was paling, I heard the phone being picked up at the other end.

Amended 1 May 2005