A Ghost As If        I am not your keeper O ghost who crouches   At the grave of my father.     The body is dead; it is in the shade.   ...

So, descend the steep hill   Slowly, go on   Go past the lunch cart   — Scolding tea, coffee   Hotdogs, burgers   Fried onions, ketchup —   — Succulent dark odours —   Smells so foody    — Mingling   With exhaust of traffic —   That they foment in your gut   A hunger you didn’t know you had.     Go ahead, under   The railway bridge, turn right,   Allotments to your left   — Carrots, beans, raspberries   Basil, rosemary, parsley   Marigolds, sunflowers —   Big b

Still-Life Ask her what she thinks as she conceals her baby in fallen leaves and detritus. Still-born, still-life. All that waiting, all that love unanswered. So many clouds with dark underbellies.