Coal Smoke in Archway
Late night poetry, no rewrites allowed
Ash clouds my mouth as I crane to the sun
In search of some warmth in a sky set on slumbering
And arrive back at ten.
Back out of London, my Proustian trigger
shot by the bonfire tamed by an old woman-
Yes I am ten and its autumn in nowhere
And my hands are frozen in gloves by the village
And there is smoke in my lungs
Yes, I was ten
Now 5ft 6 walking to lectures
A Madeleine Moment
Ironic that, really
