The white noise of tarmac fills my ears
The mint of a humbug sweetens my nostrils
Mix in the stale odour of mum's last drag
And you have the annual pilgrimage west

The cool windowpane presses on my forred
Like a mother’s hand on a fever
Hedgerows simmer past, my young imagination
Penetrates the haze

Who was that?
Glimpsed for a moment
An old man in a scarecrow gown
Shuffling in leaves and loosening traps
In no-man’s land, once known
Now forgotten

Condemned, he looks somehow familiar
A sting of recognition- this is me
Half turning to look briefly, I see
My own cold blue eyes, the same
Stoop in the neck, ready for the noose

A window opens in the front
For the punctual smoke
My thoughts ****** out by the vacuum
Now there is just white noise and nausea
Nausea, and that familiar sadness
Of a long buried future

7.8.23