summer days in a working town

the sun burns our skin
melting bitumen on the road
past the glue factory
and the smell lingers
with no wind to carry it
over row after row
of working men's houses
in a town with no jobs

The Lake

the lake is deep
so deep that it's never been measured
there are sheer cliffs and ledges
where fallen objects
lie undisturbed
where the water is cold
and the cold preserves

the lake is quiet
summer families long gone
cottages on the shore stand empty
now, in the early morning
you are alone
sure that no one will disturb

Poynton Terrace

you descend wide stairs
a dark interior
sunlight through coloured glass
giving weight to your brief smile
as you step from the edge
unsure

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