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Airport (Exercise poem) Updated

by  joanie

Posted: Tuesday, November 8, 2005
Word Count: 383
Summary: A response to fevvers' exercise on Poetry Seminar




Second draft

I look up at the moon,
a blur
as if observed through tissue paper.
I smile.

The air
feels like autumn.
Good! I worry about
warmth out of season.
I drink in the freshness
before I start the engine.

Bumps like debris,
that car
which parks on the bend.
Blackness. A string of lights
in the distance, like a necklace
when the thread has stretched.

I smile at the phone box,
with its glow
and I wish I hadn't lingered,
chatting to my friend.
My lateness irritates me.

I hate Christmas coming in November
but The Pogues don't count, really.
I sing 'You faggot;
Happy Christmas your arse'
and I love its volume.

I reach the place for parking. The guy
in the jacket which you can’t miss waits
for me to park my car and leave. No chance!
I'm waiting here. You can't fine me!

Here he comes.

I take one glance at the moon,
smile and wink,
then turn off The Pogues,
substitute radio
and settle back
to play the chauffeur
and listen to the traumas of the day.





I look up at the moon,
an unexpected blur
as if observed through tissue paper.
I smile.

The air is chilled;
it feels like autumn.
Good! I worry about unseasonal
warmth. I drink in the freshness
before I start the engine.

Speed bumps, debris,
that annoying car
which always parks on the bend.
Blackness. A string of lights
in the distance, like a necklace
when the thread has stretched.

I smile at the old red phone box,
looking inviting
with its dim yellow glow
and I wish I hadn't lingered
quite so long, chatting to my friend.
I'm late now.

I detest Christmas coming early
but The Pogues don't count, really.
I sing LOUDLY 'You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse'
and it's far too loud
but I love it.

I reach the parking bay. The pompous guy
in the day-glo jacket is desperate
for me to park my car and leave. No chance!
I'm waiting here. You can't fine me!

Here he comes.

I take one last glance at the teasing moon,
smile and wink,
then turn off The Pogues,
substitute local radio
and settle back
to play the chauffeur
and listen to the traumas of the day.