they’d papered over the low ceiling with kids’ drawings
of mermaids, aliens and cats with missing teeth. Outside,
some fool had shot the whole ocean down. The jukebox
played “Wish You Were Here”, and it wrestled with
the thwack of pool balls, the slurping of wheels across
puddled blacktop through glass painted with mist,
just winning out. And I languished a thousand miles inland,
harboured in a fold of absurd mountains, money all spent.
Throwing out all that useless time, I found the pair of us
twenty-two again, free, with nothing on Earth to be free from.
Robert Ford’s poetry has appeared in a number of print and online publications, including The Interpreter’s House, Brittle Star, Butcher’s Dog and San Pedro River Review. He is a member of The Brewery Poets in Kendal, England. More of his work can be found at https://wezzlehead.wordpress.com.