Creak up; pace the packing:
twilight terrain, bedsit drama:
today, dawn up north is a cold fish.
The number 28 is on time,
we slouch off
past Sainsburys,
smell the drivers after-shave
despite a weeks stubble,
over the River Ouse
the willows look like
spaghetti waving in the wind.
Paul Hawkins
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