the persistence of vision

The polar bears on the traffic island

are taking tea, laying the crockery

on a table with a crisp white cloth.

Observe their fine manners as they eat

cucumber sandwiches with the crusts removed

and pour Darjeeling into bone china cups.

I see these things. People don’t believe me.

I note that you have put on your headphones

and are looking away across the park,

where the Second World War is always just beginning,

the man from out of town with the small moustache

unrolling his maps on the bowling green.

Due to be published in Fire

oddball

One story had him talking to seagulls

backwards through a C.B. radio,

another on the corner at midnight,

directing two streets towards a collision.

Mine was when he followed me for miles

through the railway tunnel under the river,

the smoke from his imaginary cigarette

drifting into the mile long dark.

Due to be published in Fire