William Danes-Volkov
Leaving
The best view of this town is from the hill
I walk down when I leave. The bowl is filled
with chequered trees and roofs, as though
a cloth had been laid for a farewell supper.
Past the grammar school where I waited for Chris
twenty-five years ago. What will time have done
to a girl with brown un-stockinged legs
who laughed with me in wheatfields?
The hill descends to the town’s hard centre
exposing me once more to its pain
before the train sulks out on its grimed belly;
Slow and ashamed between the high buildings.
Page(s) 12
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