Two Poems

Half Empty

I've heard it said there's no such thing
as coincidence, unless the truck
from Inverness passing you going
the other way four miles south
of Leeds at one-ten this afternoon
was one, every bit as incredible
as another hitting an oil-slick and slithering
into what would have been your path
had you been delayed by having to go
back in to check the house-lights.

Some things can't happen but still do,
like driving home in fading light
to an atmospheric rendering of 1492*
on air, then at a random petrol stop
...