Back to the Market

Ashley Bovan

Early pm:
our dialogue floats and trails, rambles
along the circular path that follows
the stream, forks
around two houses, turns
back into the main road.

The regular odours
of engines hang
around the close, percolate
through our hair.

We stand on the apron
next to the stalks of wind-wrecked tulips,
ticking moments of staunched hypocrisy.
We mouth our humour,
voice the usual suspicions,
fix the mix.

Later, at home,
I think about the For Sale sign
nailed to your wall.

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