Hawk on the grass last night,
and at hangover daybreak

all that’s left is a bloody wing
to signal the remnants of us.

I’ve hotel walls instead of you,
plus a ghostly farmhouse picture.

Its black windows spell out fear:
a spectral figure haunts an entrance.

In an adjoining room, this early,
someone is torturing a cello.

I take a photo of the picture, then
the room fills up with emptiness.

I press delete, no provocation,
there’s a plane to catch tomorrow.

John Short now lives in Liverpool, England, after many years in southern Europe. He’s a member of the Liver Bards poetry group and reads at venues around Liverpool and beyond. Widely published in the UK, Spain, France, Ireland and the USA, he’s appeared most recently in The Blue Nib, Prole, Dream Catcher Magazine and StepAway Magazine, which nominated him for a Pushcart Prize in 2018.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.