she leaves no bloodstains on the page
none of the lettering blurred by tears
words long burned into her as
old humiliations screaming fights
have since been buried far too deep
all her best memories she writes
lie frozen in the garden pool

the landscape idles at its functional
default stripped trees and sodden fields
with little ventured at the surface
grey mists erasing all perspective
that tea-time train was full of kids
as loud and foolish as we used to be



Tony Lucas
Pic: Rupert Loydell




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