Pulls the apartment door towards her,
(it slowly clicks shut)
Picks up her bag,
Pads down backstairs,
Slips on her shoes,
Clack-taps echoing the basement car
Park, finds her old Ford,
Still starts first time,
Drives up the ramp, checks right
And left, No traffic yet,
Re-reads the directions that came
With his note,
Rolls down her window,
Grips the wheel gulping,
At long last sets off,
Chalked my name on the sidewalk,
Watched that night as rain washed
It off reaches the Freeway,
Still early, still quiet
But takes a Highway instead
As her sister wakes up crying,
Makes coffee until it’s late enough
To phone A shower of stones
Cracked our roof tiles. Mother
Said it was neighbours who’ve
Never liked us mid-morning
She stops at a diner, drinks coffee,
Has doughnuts for breakfast,
Openly smokes and as she leaves
Brushing some man beery breath
Who whistles and the wheels on
The car go round and round and
Past a cop, parked by some billboard,
Asleep Round and round and round
Overtakes a school bus, jaundiced,
Empty Round and reaches her turn off,
Checks herself in the mirror,
Practices smiling.
The Haunting:
Deleted Scenes
Poems i.m. Shirley Jackson
and Joan McCann (nee Salter)
1930-2020
By Kevin Patrick McCann
With an Introduction by Fran Lock
Picture Nick Victor