Seafield Road by Simon Cockle

This is a road that leads out of the mind itself.
I see a terraced street of Victorian cottages

in a city by the sea. The sky is ageless blue
but at night I draw a quilt of stars over me.

A corner store sells a vegetable that is round
to hold, and a fruit that tastes of yellow.

The road is littered with the skin of knees, spent
plasters and tears running home at lunchtime.

An ice-cream van churns out tin music that makes
the cats scratch their ears. The deadpan stare

of the Methodist Church casts a shadow
all the way to where the road runs out.

Somewhere in the distance, there’s me,
in shorts, on a pavement directing the sun

to burn ants through a magnifying glass.
They can remain in the light forever –

but I can never return to this place; only
on the printed page and the gaps between words.

simon-cockle
Simon Cockle is a poet and writer from Hertfordshire. He writes as part of Poetry ID, a Stanza of the Poetry Society. His poems have been published in iOTA, Prole, The Lampeter Review, An Algebra of Owls and the London Progressive Journal, amongst others. He was invited to read at last year’s Ledbury Poetry Festival as part of the Poetica Botanica event. He teaches English in a local comprehensive school, and has a wife and daughter who nod reassuringly when he reads them his poems. More of his poems can be found at https://simoncockle.wordpress.com/ .

 

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