Our train comes to a standstill
looking down on a bluebell graveyard

where lines of tall green headstones stand
shoulder to shoulder, arms length apart.

The ones near the wall lean
on each other, like friends,

as in life. Carole says each one of those
upright stones is a person, standing,

looking right back at us asking what do we do
now? I ponder that thought.

Carole wants Coldplay’s, Why Worry going
in and Eminem’s, Lose Yourself as people are leaving.

She holds me responsible.
She doesn't want flowers, they always make her sneeze.

I wonder
how many words
have sat on the tip
of your tongue,
waiting to take the plunge
into the world outside,
but have held back
in fear of the fall-

and I wonder
how different your life would be
had those words been set free.

I write poetry, drink coffee,
talk art, dig cinema,
wear t-shirts without graphics,
t-shirts without tags,
and screen-print my to-do lists
on everything.
I say all this as I blow-dry
the temporary tattoo on my wrist.