From a double-decker bus,
in shop-lifted blue argyll-pattern socks,
I saw you for the penultimate time.
Now my teeth lengthen like the evening;
the scratches on an old watch
by the pane's explosion of sunset-
prismatic inside the cordon of time.
That night when you asked
if I always came so quickly,
I tried to think of little things
like that lump of compressed snow
in the shape of a haddock,
tiny runny fried egg sandwiches,
frozen red wine cubes.

 

Walking home from FoodThrift,
I watch them ravelled in a shop doorway-
the happiest days of their lives.
I watch them so long my chicken pie begins to defrost.
Me, I'm happy with a smooth delivery on the toilet,
the energy to pedal my bike.

 

I'm gonna lie down in a cow field,
wait for a succulent tongued beast
to bend down and mother me,
and mix memories of her-
in those green plastic sandals
in the greenhouse at dusk-
like a chemist.