Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

« Previous item
Contents of this issue
Next item »

Peter Lewin

print this page

Night Coach

My feet are swollen
and I cannot sleep.
My eyes are awash with blue
neon and night lights.
Outside these moving windows
people are sleeping peacefully.
Some are in the chapel of rest.
Babies are being born.
Someone’s crying over a death.
Girls with long black-hair
and olive skin are dreaming,
hiding eyes that can stun
at twenty paces.

I wake from day dreams
though it’s dusky dark;
as we rise above Lake Garda
the shore lights glittering.
From a distance
an electric golden-cross
seems to hover in thin-air.
It leaves a meaningful
and desired effect upon me
as if The Lord had washed my feet.

Suddenly, and without warning
we race through a long tunnel;
an Italian Samba playing.
Our coach driver seems to dance
as the tunnel lights
create a strobe effect:
maybe it’s their trick
but he seems to be moving
to the rhythm
like a raving demon
like a jockey whipping
a wide-eyed horse
as we thunder on.

 

Page(s) 65

Back to top