Monday, 8 February 2016

Free Form

Still got shingle
from Saint Margaret’s bay
in my shoes
As I step through the train doors
My parachute of text books
Carefully packed
Sitting snuggly on my back
Down into the city we descend
A strip of pinky grey against
a dirty turquoise sky.
Like a smudge of bees on the horizon
In a cartoon riffing on the follies
Of urban man.
Here is the news
I feel steely waves
crashing in my feet
I got the still got shingle
From Saint Margaret’s bay
In my trainers
From when we sat in the car
sipping tea
Starring at the sea
Your dark tresses
Hardening my softness

Monday morning blues.

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