A soft tear in the car
Parked in there, beside me
Cars come, cars go, doors open
Doors close, the gardener rides by
On his miniature tractor
The singer sings
Of perfect sense
He sings; in the past
And also in the present tense
Black clothes; handshakes
Laughter, footsteps
Footsteps on tarmacadam’s solid earth
Friday is a good day to move on
Every Yorkshire lad would like to buy his mother
A bunch of pratty flowers
All blacksmiths make a lucky horseshoe for mum
By golly, by gum
The Eastern European, with the snazzy trainers
He's on the mobile
Not to his dealer, or his East England gang-master
But to his dear mama, ha ha
That simple lad, walking on the pavement
A jobless day, another what's it matter sort of day
Holding the bouquet uneasily, else which he fears
Might so easily fall through his life today
Back home, secure inside their own four walls
Clung together, yet without words for conversation
Pasta, mince meat, wet washing
Picked at, squeezed, flattened
Into a wafer thin construct
Squeezed to break apart and reconstitute
Squeezed to empty the fabric of moisture
Characters, scenery, dialogue
Picked
Squeezed to become believable
Squeezed to become visually authentic
Squeezed to become creatively concise
Roses and fields of red poppies
Left alone for nature to engage
Laughter, anxiety; to take the step
Or to back off, for there will be other moments
Unfolded hand, in a friendly gesture
Steady, this could be the one
Caffeine or a chocolate liquorice mixture
Hold awhile, watch the body language
Not here the hoi polloi, or the wishful thinkers
Who drink visibly, not linked to invisibility of mind
A fine, people watching space
A good place to hang your paintings
It is though a café; which whilst
Not a restaurant will still give you
Punters for you to look down upon
Somewhere to listen
To the chitter chatter
A mirrored resemblance
Of your nothingness
And then there is me
He who wants to write a poem
As pure, as sure
As your infinity pictures
The poem will be
All of the words in the world, piled
Indecipherably, one upon another
Or there won't be any words at all
No, that’s it, no words whatsoever
