Heading for the Airport

The cab suddenly turning up

twenty-seven minutes later

after my ten frantic calls

from the pavement outside your block,

your dressing-gowned silhouette

hovering on the balcony,

a halo of your wispy hair

blonde once more against the dawn.

 

My suitcases thrown in the boot,

doors slammed, engine revved, clutch released,

I forgot our goodbye wave,

checking messages and chanting

my flight number like a hex.

If only that cab had left me

waiting in vain. No way to know

I’d never see you again.

Matthew Stewart
CommentsShare