Poem

The Visitors

Glimpsed in retrospect as you storm by on the train to Liverpool Street.
The name rests obliquely in your memories.
and I sigh, as I refer to your middle class attributes
(because everyone is middle class these days)
and mumble in answer, ‘Its near Aldeburgh’
causing your head to bounce in recognition.

But it is also within itself. And it’s also near Sizewell.
I wake up in the mornings to unmythical creatures
and the sound of your cars pouring
into the forgotten, pregnant bulge of the East Coast
ignoring the gathered branches, the strawberry picking,
The lack of money.

The same cars soothe me to hide and seek dreams
in the heat, when the window must blink undone.
I know so few people here,
But I do not want to know you, visitor
unless I can tell you the truth about here
without a look of pity on your face.

Katie Ford
Benhall, United Kingdom

Katie Ford has too many jobs and has to find the time to write (her favourite thing) in between those hours. She doesn't get much sleep at the moment.

Back to poetry map | Back to poems index