Love on a Monday Evening
Today I felt fear and it was the grandest thing -
like the crown of my head would lift off.
Not a leaf could have flipped on its back in the wind
that I wouldn't have noticed.
An Arab sat opposite me on the train.
I had taken the first carriage,
the one we had imbued with likely death
in a way we can only substantiate for each other.
My fingers filled with static and my blood turned
to white noise. I could describe him for you,
a quick photo-fit sketch, but mostly it was his stubble
and the wart on his left cheek,
like in news reports. I have a spot in the same place
on my right cheek. You've never called me
a terrorist when I've not shaved for that long. Mostly
I have been supporting myself on wire link fences
looking at each partition of waste land,
square by square, until the police move me on.
Static Exile can be ordered directly from the publisher, Penned in the Margins.
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