by Simon Alderwick

the bird on the roof; the lamp pointing
upwards; the pen going on a journey;
the keys; two pink clothes pegs a long way
from the line; an acknowledgement; the
books that stick out from the shelf;
the waiting weights; the thigh that
moonlights as a writing desk; the lady
who organised this; the taste of the
coupon; the wave; the flip flops that
miss spending all day on the beach;
the parts of her that are all mine;
the rain that might fall; the old man
terrified of retirement; the old lady who
never got to; the bed that was made
only to have unfolded clothes dumped on it
almost immediately; the echoes of the next
line; another rejection; missing my daughters;
all those moments that we’ll never live again;
the approaching; always the approaching;
forgetting to indicate; glad of my skin shade
when I get pulled over; no idea of my origins;
Liverpool, Bristol, possibly some Irish; when it
all collapses will it be permaculture or The Road?
letting the size of the page dictate the
length of the writing; feeling artificial;
missing those days I can’t remember;
welling up and moving on; can we do something
else now?

Simon Alderwick is a writer and musician from the UK. His work is featured or forthcoming in Whatever Keeps The Light On, Re-side, The Daily Drunk and the Squiffy Gnu anthology, among others. Follow him on Twitter @SimonAlderwick.