National poetry writing month has been upon us for a few days now, and whilst the other results can be seen on my blog Winter Hill but I thought I'd share my contribution for day 3 on here.
For two women waiting outside Victoria station on a Saturday night.
You share cigarette smoke chatter, under
train station canopies and practise cartwheels
on the gravel. Under glowstick Manchester
sky you change into comfy shoes, tossing
neon purple high heels with dismissive regal
hands. There is electric blue air dancing,
sparking, swaggering around and fractured
disco ball glisten spotlights dancefloor puddles.
A couple embrace under departure board green,
threatening their children with further displays;
you giggle a fifteen year old girl's giggle,
twenty years in waiting; polish off plastic
glass of wine and walk on, leaving no trace,
but a single slippered heel.
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