We sat and sounded beliefs
as the leaves chose to dance
with an almost panic
as if the chance wouldn’t come again
and the floor would be cleared

Clarity, for now, only coming
from this brittle winter light
that in high contrast picks out sad details
that murky days hide better

I will cry, I guess, tomorrow
or another day that would’ve been ours
the hours will let me know
I’m sure

Rattle the cassette
with the biro etched “Car Mix”
grab the keys from mum’s bag
“Fill up what you use!”
“…Ok, can I have a fiver then?”
scuff to the car in unsuitable boots
slump in, adjust mirror, checking stupid fringe
which then existed
snap in the tape so the first bars
of G-Funk, grunge or B*Witched pulse
then it’s off to pick up
shotgun

autumn drinks heavily
slides into winter black
singing old songs in the dark
of loss and lack
and imperfect memory

these months weigh more:
grit under the eyelid
cold **** in the soul weight
that scratches and suffocates

but the coals will glow
and windows steam the same,
inside from time to time
and safe

The lies that autumn tells
it hides in these leaves,
like a sleight of branch
you’ll be misdirected
from the dun, dying land
as you revel in amber and gold
falsehoods

With leaves fireworking
their last defiant blaze
against grey skies and the mud,
once again I forget to remember

the muted tannoy announces silence
for customers and staff
and the surreal descends
among the tins of peas and carrots

where the absence of the normal clatter
suddenly roars, catches in my throat,
the plaintive, Sally Army bugler
scoring the sadness in these aisles,
these isles

with two minutes passed,
the cacophony of the tide
of plant based diets
and too early Stollen returns
to wash over, to forget

Off the daily cuff
blood pressure rises,
no real surprise
when this number over that
seems to dictate it all

For it to fall to a level
where there is no dread
of a sudden clutched chest
or brain wildfire
requires time for self care,

And though there’s the rub,
your work will never love you back,
so feel no guilt stepping away
before you crack

Time ticks down as we gouge,
burn, eat and smear this planet,
all the while avoiding eye-contact
as we line our graves with cash
for a soft and pointless landing

Standing knee-deep already
on a rented doorstep
the next in line rightfully curse us
as the fat get fatter, fit to burst,
but never fit for purpose