Free Form
Free Fall 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 54321 Go 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.