She is travelling the world, cigarette in hand,
unsure where she will be sleeping next or who
she might be sleeping with, knows there will be
coffee and light reflecting on the sea, that it is
warmer there than here. Everything’s up for grabs
and she will grab it if she can, cigarette in hand,
iPhone or ice cream in the other, leaving photos
sprinkled across several social media accounts
along with poems, stories, notes and thoughts
she might one day edit into shape. Possibly.
She prefers to write words down as they arrive,
to let them speak for themselves, likes the fact
she is always passing through, knows very few
of her email friends. No-one believes she’s real
or has met her, she is poetic invention, smoke
in the air, a literary ghost, the reincarnation
of a writer we have not read but possessively
cling to, namedrop. We imagine we could be
like her, sunburnt and free, cigarette in hand.
She is travelling the world, unsure who to be.
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Words and Picture
© Rupert M Loydell
.