The Cleaning Lady.
She’s not the sharpest tool in the box,
Our June. But she cleans well,
If rather slowly. Talks a lot.
Has a lot to tell.
I listen patiently, try to pretend
Some interest, poor duck.
She sips her tea, and hoovers,
Has always had bad luck,
But she’s a cheerful soul,
And grateful. Read more
I think we’ll never meet again.
I glanced back when we parted
And I saw you were watching me.
The sun filtered through the sky-light
Unattractive yellowed high-light,
And I made my way to the car
Cold on a summer’s day. Read more
You stood in the leafless scrub, huge tank presence, so big, concrete block.
Tiny eye that watched us. Sharp, silent, suspicious. Ready to charge.
Engine rolling, first gear. You seemed to know. Was that sardonic
That smile in your marble eye ? Read more
Frozen stretch, wasteland, grey-black mountain ranges.
Cold. Dirt road crawling like a wounded serpent
Through brown hillocks. Tiny hamlet. Black. No sound.
No movement. Nothing lost. Nothing found.
Heavy horizon lumbers beyond
The rocks. Jagged. Rounded. Brown, grey, more grey,
Mean little shack, old truck, icy air, solitary bird
A miniscule speck, its voice unheard. Read more