Three

I had recalled some lines   I write poetry because I breathe   three, to be exact   and do not know why –   a number that had waved at me from the ribs of a passing truck earlier that day   lime green –   “three three three”   it sang, loping by[…]

Bone by bone

I am walking down the road thinking about people   my people   on roads like this that the dusk is quietly erasing   people on trams in trains that whip about on fixed axles pressing their bevelled feet into the rails   I don’t know their names, so I hold them in a sweet[…]

The robins

I am sitting at the table in front of an empty fireplace heater blaring the smell of bolognaise and Nina Simone waiting for James –   his brother is probably on the way to a jazz club by now or stuffing baked potatoes with pulled pork –   ‘corn?’ he asks and the two tilt[…]