< Previous | Contents | Next >
Counting
It comes on when the summer clocks go back dark To then
Us three our hols day 1
Sat 2 and 1 – me and him and her Flew in and now fast
Motorway coach window my forehead cold pressed counting, passing, passing
no one.
Still concrete ruins, grey olive grove green Going
I feel the home sun setting to saddest, saddest sun down Counting
49 package passengers
a trip in technicolour steps
Pisa, Florence, Rome, Venice, Rimini, 5 steps to go
Unbearably slow steps.
I can’t cry, I can swallow though
The heaviest, blackest sinking, sinking sun Counting
Down…
November 5, 2014