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
monolithic buildings,
and I realise how
far away
my memories are.

Past life

The desperate mind
The others following

Time to hide
our fear
of joy’s

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?


Staring at the handset failed to make it any easier. But this time… surely she’d see through her own bluff?

Thinking, indeed promising myself that this would be the last, definite, final time that I phoned, and actually believing once again that I would get a positive response, I dialled.

After the rotations finished, I listened to the line’s crackle over the sound of my pulse. A new start.

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

Amended 1 May 2005, 19 November 2020