BETWEEN THE PARTING:

 

She looked back at him confused, hesitating at the 

threshold of his intentions, she assumed. 

Peering in to find him not looking at, but ‘through’ 

her, talking to a chill wind blowing in from 1967. 

A time he could have settled down with the girl 

down the road and chosen there and then to miss 

the magic of this brutal carpark morning between 

the service station and the bins – he grinned. 

 

The taxi driver, stood too close for the delicacy 

the moment begged, numb to the electricity between 

the parting and the memory. Glancing at his watch 

he sparked another slim and fooled himself again he’d 

swindled time. A proud boast from a proud man, though 

he’d never told his wife.  

 

(K)