From Kurashiki to Manchester
Posted on Thursday 31st December 2009 8:06 pm
It’s my last day. I’ll never see the telephone cables, from the corner of my eye,
meshed together, look like crows’ mingling.
Or the
White sheets straggling washing lines, having a barney with futons; bent over balconies,
blowing in the wind, from the bellow of petrol station attendants;
who make rainbows on windscreens with their elbows, egging cars, in and out.
I’ll never smell yaki niku, as it smoulders on charcoal:
Amy, splatting me with the fat.
Or
Taste the gumminess of mochi, melting all corners of my mouth:
It’s red centre, like lava.
I’ll never hear the jostling of school children’s bags, bouncing with pokemon,
Hello kitty key rings, swinging from their straps.
Or the
Irasshaimase, sumimasens, as I walk into conveni’s.
I’ll never see, the black inviting eyes, of the female sushi chef, as she shapes the tuna,
gives ME, Extra wasabi J
I land, see the familiar red and orange lights lining the M60.
My Nan’s white wiry hair and soft tissue wrinkles, welcome me
Mum’s cheeks, a flurry of red, reaching for a hug
Dad’s manky moan’s: Where’ve you bin, the pots need doin
And you sister
Relief, rimming your smile.
garside
Sun 29th Nov 2009 09:57
Hi Belinda
thanks for the comment on the haiku thing
steve x