Peter Lewin
No Message
He always had this thing
about locking doors.
It used to wind me up
when I couldn’t get in
or out without my keys.
Once he found out
I’d left the front door
open all night,
didn’t speak to me
for a week.
Not long after,
I came home one teatime -
chips frying, bread buttered,
table set, eggs cracked
in the bowl, ready for the pan.
His pint of tea steaming
on the sink, no sign of him
then or ever.
Page(s) 62
magazine list
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- 14
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- Chroma
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- Dream Catcher
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- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
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- Iota
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- Lamport Court
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- Magma
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- Matter
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- North, The
- Oasis
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
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- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
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- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
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- Yellow Crane, The