Sunday, with the television off
I think of the future. My death bed. I imagine the man I will be. Then I pay that man a visit. Ask him, what would you do?
So I leave the car and walk across town. Knock on my father's door to say hello and listen to his stories, the ones I've heard before.
It's like I've travelled in time. Now he knows that someone is listening. On the way home, the sun falls behind the buildings, and I walk into a supermarket.
Bevel (Carcanet, 2012)
My thanks to Carcanet Press for permission to use this poem. You can buy Bevel directly from them here.