This poem is taken from PN Review 278, Volume 50 Number 6, July - August 2024.
Six Poems
Buttermere
All day I have sat on the lakebed
looking up at the undersides of clouds.
Here and not here.
The lake says there’s nothing
to lose anymore.
The water is extremely clear.
1987
The milk bottles are rattling on the tray.
The paper straws are bobbing in the holes.
I shut my eyes and wish myself away
from Smelly Betty and Unkind Peter.
En Route to Great Yarmouth
Can anybody actually hear me?
I’m shouting through the car’s back window
while the others stand around in the layby laughing
at my act, which isn’t an act at all.
...
All day I have sat on the lakebed
looking up at the undersides of clouds.
Here and not here.
The lake says there’s nothing
to lose anymore.
The water is extremely clear.
1987
The milk bottles are rattling on the tray.
The paper straws are bobbing in the holes.
I shut my eyes and wish myself away
from Smelly Betty and Unkind Peter.
En Route to Great Yarmouth
Can anybody actually hear me?
I’m shouting through the car’s back window
while the others stand around in the layby laughing
at my act, which isn’t an act at all.
...
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