Back to the Market

Early pm
our dialogue floats and trails, rambles
along the circular path that follows
the stream, forks
around two houses, turns
back into the main road

The regular odours
of engines hang
around the close, percolate
through our hair

We stand on the apron
next to the stalks of wind-wrecked tulips
ticking moments of staunched hypocrisy
We mouth our humour
voice the usual suspicions
fix the mix

Later, at home
I think about the For Sale sign
nailed to your wall

~ ~ ~

Skin & Bruises

Maybe the scent of the roses
dark pink one side, light pink the other
let me abandon caution

It seemed like a good idea to shelter from the drizzle
under the ornamental arch in the public gardens
although everyone else had gone home

I explored your shoulders and neck
little straps and bones
fell into your skin and bruises

~ ~ ~