A car is a coffin for popcorn
lost in the back seat

we've driven to Land's End
& are standing at the crossroads

between destinations
I'm twelve or fourteen, I can't remember

on holiday from starched uniforms
blazing red & pins & needles-ridden morning assemblies

I'm not yet a European
not yet a Third Culture Kid

longing for cans of baked beans
whilst sampling new delights

my heart is still intact,
my soul is full of hope & dreams

& my hair is long, the way
mother & society wanted it

the signpost is pointing to America
now my lost hope