bare feet

through towns of peeling weatherboard
and lakes of fuzz
like a million detuned TVs
I’m watching for dust on the horizon
thumb in my jeans as she
hums hallelujah, bare feet on the windshield

up ahead
a husk of clouds
can’t manage silver of even the dirtiest spoon
not even the scuff
of feathers caught
in yellow grass beside the road

piano notes
chipping at the speakers
as Rachmaninoff hits those heavy Cs
and we exhale
fog up the glass, cover up
secrets that wiggle like caterpillars.



First published in idiom23 back in 2008 – I came across this recently and wondered if there’s space to add another stanza? I feel like I was onto the start of a bit of a ‘road poem’ maybe.

3 thoughts on “bare feet

  1. Glad you put it on Ash, connects very well to some of the stuff in 7.

    I think it is open enough for even more than one stanza. If not than a 2nd part.

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