Streetview

I

was floated into a beautiful world –

a

golden boy against dockland’s block colours

and

royal plumes of willowherb. Sun

lifted

grey granite ethereal.

 

On

these days the streets fizz with footfall,

city-sqare

markets dizzyingly busy,

air

crackling with gull-wings and phone calls

and

the jostling rustle of bags at the lights.

 

I

saw so much beauty it rushed from my mouth,

but

each time I edged towards someone

their

faces condensed. Mouths smudged and smeared. Or else –

I’d

step forward and crowds would warp out of frame.

 

I

was dragged into a jarring world,

a

golden boy corroding internally –

I

spent weeks scrolling down streets, their flagstones sour

with

sweat and cigarettes and Stella Artois.

 

 

 

 

 

I

Chased fleeting, rain-dappled backs all the way

out

into industrial estates –

where

I spent a day traipsing Hello

and

I

love you

with blue-contrailed

footsteps

 

I

was dropped into a barren world

where

people darted from my clunky steps

and

I was left coughing in lorry dust.

My

big-heart disheartened, I departed.

 

I

ghosted from mute city to city

to

countryside. There I found the same people

but

with warrior eyes. My tongue rusted

like

a byre roof, my heart like an old creelboat.

 

You

 know where I am: bottom right corner.

Drag

 me into white: drag me up and up and don’t drop.

unpublished poem, © Magnus Dixon 2019, used by permission of the author.

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