Ice Cold Pavements

The bus hums as though its life
depends upon it fumes cloud
chilled air red lights flicker distanced

yet near enough to feel a part
of something despite it being 6.00 a.m.

This time of morning perspective
alters before the first tea of the day

if the snows arrived I’d be first
to make footprints along the beach

thinking of Clementine and Joel
and double beds alongside

rooms in Greenwich Village
Bleecker Street writing visiting
Zinc Bar setting up a tab
drinking in preparation for ice

cold pavements and the slide home
through greying slush replicating
Bob and Suze in Jones Street

if I transported to HD189733B
would I be missed?

Third Rail

Buttercups spread like fire snakes
                meadows give way to lush green
manicured golf grass

motorway concrete halts spread
disused container                 heat contained

enclosures abstract scaffold

in the 1980s on Bidston Moss tip they scavenged
for food

Caution moving trains                 production shed
banks of bramble                 coolness of tunnel
spotted pink rose                 black of bricks

white of platform edge                 breeze blocked
paint dripped hushed undergrowth
unused rails                 scattered daisies seek the sun

Concrete and Classrooms

Light holds fast, hardened by rain. Empty roads
essence of speed. Smart Price Fox appears asleep,
in the middle lane of the M6 motorway. My
stomach turns, empty as it is.

Line of horizon, tail lights fade through spray.
Hilton Park, coffee and petrol, count the hours
until we break back here, fifteen, tiredness soaks
through bones.

Talk Sport company, roll into Cherwell Valley.
Sleep forty minutes, luxury before sixty miles of
madness and fumes. Planes cross our path, locals
barely register. I'm like a spotter.

Feverfew coats the bank. Pinewood to the right, an
odd signifier. ‘Tiredness Can Kill Take A Break’.
Check for weakness, lane swop as pastime. At
one with concrete and classrooms.

Magpies bounce along. Scour the hard shoulder.
‘40’ ‘50’ ‘60’ ‘End Of Variable Speed Limits’. Feel
the forest and its greenness. Lose phone signals
as the day seems to be over.

Tailspin

All I never said
like headlight reflections
I’ve never loved you more

I stare through the mist
past the rainbow and
realise we were
made for each other

Like the letter never sent
I’ve tried and you’ve done
nothing wrong really,
despite what’s been said

Old photographs languish
in the cardboard box under
the bed

the kind of stuff that sends
us into a tailspin

Bleeker and Macdougal

Flight DL 138
Manchester to JFK.
Leave loaded
on Scotch and Valium.
We are meeting Jonny at the
airport and Vicky
in NYC.
Collect the
keys for the apartment from
Central Park West and cab
it down to the Village. The
cool aired air conditioned

apartment is a
relief as we
step in off the molten
streets. First into
the bedrooms to check
which is the most
suitable for me and Bar. ‘We'll
take the front one
thank you very much.’ Nip
over to the pharmacy
to score some
Melatonin to help us
sleep that night. Nick and Jonny
head off to check the Cafe Figaro

out. Me and Bar hit the
bath. Off to Domsey's in
Brooklyn to buy
Levi cords, Gap and Lee
shirts. The old Jew
doesn't know that
he has gum stuck
to his long black
coat as we wait
to head across
the bridge, via the
subway. Jonny and
Vicky are scouring
the thrift stores. The Empire
State Building elegant
as we scurry around its
base looking for
an entrance. At the
top we pose
for pictures and call
our parents. 'Guess where
I'm calling you from...?' Beer
at the base. A game on the TV.
We sit drinking Rolling
Rock and feeding
quarters into the
jukebox and massive starters

to ourselves. Breakfast
at the Washington
Square Diner or
up the street on
Bleeker. 'Who's taking the
clothes to the laundry?'
Head off to
St. Marks
Place after
walking down Broadway past Tower
Records, Atrium, Shakespeare
& Co. and DKNY
‘Let’s stop for a cup of tea.’