Morgan's Point

On Sunday,

I drove to

Morgan’s Point,

Following Main Street

And the smell of antiquities

Along a winding road

Where houses

Out did each other

And sailed loftily

Amongst summer greens;

Mail boxes hung

Forlorn heads

Amongst green

And brown Maples,

While I slowly listened

To the dim hum

Of tyres

And watched the sky

As it paled with blue sadness.

You drove with

Your lipstick

Creased in silence

On your mouth

And a dream

Caught steadily in your eyes;

While I,

Shadows on my mind

Would remember you

In roses,

Bright yellow roses

Singing softly on the back seat

Of your car.