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Gloria Moreno-Castillo

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At Hatton Cross

May it be granted me not to grumble about
This bleak, anonymous stretch of service area,
This blank, dismal space round the tube station
With five bus-stops standing all in a row.

Let me turn to the clouds, pearl-white and furry-grey,
Scurrying over Heathrow terminals 1, 2, 3
Towards the creamy-yellow of the sleepy sun.

Let me not complain about
The waste, barren sameness of the maintenance area
Where, back to the airport from the A30,
Or, back to the A30 from the airport,
Five delivery vans are parked all in a row.

So, here’s the Local Area Bus Guide.
The map a disrupted russet cobweb;
In her frenzy, Arachne has broken her loom,
In her fury against Minerva, her spinning and weaving has gone all crooked.

Other buses are drawing up with a screech and a jerk,
And I am left stranded on this no-man’s-land
Still waiting for the Expresslink 726,
Still facing the dreary horizon of warehouses
With five rubbish containers squatting all in a row.

So, let me turn to little things:
The bright sparkling orange scarf from Oxfam
I’m wearing with fluffy orange gloves to go with it.

Page(s) 43

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