Wednesday, November 4

Bow Rd

the old route roused out of memory
; I miss it. I should like
to walk that path again—out over
bow road & the little driver
boxed against in the
disused railway bridge, there.
where the caf’ door shuts
not first thing in the morning
& all the bathroom grout whitely
shining. how is the friendly only employee
of co-op getting on in her
tired petroleum eyes?
well, I wonder
down that road where my heart
was broken, down where
alone I first was
& then loved I became &
alone returned, back down bow
road with my unaccompanied side.
bow road, don’t I lay
blame on your ruptured slabs,
no, but take the memories,
cash them in, 8-a.m. bookie,
& find me somewhere live to else
now that love & heartbreak
got my city me
in equal measure painfully.

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