Print This Page

the kissing gate.

set the clock

for o-two hundred

wake, dress, drive for 30 minutes

on empty roads

 

the blink blink of the car alarm

loud

in the blackness:

through the woods

around the reservoir

ten miles

nearly shit myself

with the things I saw

or thought I saw

and the things I heard

- thought I heard

 

and I'm a grown man

it's not often I'm scared shitless

these days

 

the woods an ancient place with no streetlights,

the water lapping black with no moon, no torch

 

I only make out the sandy path

through the reservoir

if I look straight ahead

- look down & the path disappears

water either side

 

click clack through the kissing gate

 

- the car's still here

blink blink

a cigarette

and home to bed,

jeez do I feel alive