Another dialogue

Look, he said.

The past is a worship of 

The future asks you to live for it.

Live for it, he thought
Staring from the sockets that windowed 
the reality to which he was subscribed

The reflection looked back but said nothing

Reflections don’t understand

Start now, he said
See, a line engraved under everything that once was

His reflection grimaced, gnashed it’s teeth
the mirror’s glass a cage to this beast

It was Tuesday when they said goodbye.  Packing up the car, they drove out to the edge of the cliffs.  Sat. Drank tea from the thermos. Looked out.

The back of the car was full.  And the boot.

They looked at each other and released the hand  brake, leaping from the car just moments before it plummeted to the beach below.

Uncle had always loved making sand castles.


An offer came by email and, unusually, he bit.

Gathering all of the images from childhood and after, he collated his life in a series of albums.

That one. That was a terrible year. The contents were good, but the binding was damaged by the time the book arrived. Whilst waiting for it to be resent, he looked at the gap in the bindings as the remainder of his life stretched across shelves in the lounge.

And this is what I am, and how I came to be, he thought. Where is the ambition. Where is the success. Here I see fake smiles and excuses, page after page.

Deciding that the missing year should form the basis for adventure, he looked into the last pages of prior volume and the first of its successor, and wondered what he’d done. What he should have, could have.


The next morning saw the purchase of a tent, waterproofs, a backpack and matches. As the house burned down, he set out on his bike, to recreate the past.

Smart silver

The world turned slowly to the
grandfather’s clock
each hour or half marked
by a chime, cake, or both
and tea
for today will always be Sunday
a time to discuss the
latest deaths
of those we once knew,
and the current wrongs of the world