Found in Willow Springs 94
Looking for the Man in Another Country
Maybe he steps from the Tube and climbs toward the light.
Maybe leaving the underworld he hands a coin to a woman
weeping at the door.
Maybe he revels after the football club wins. Maybe he parades
with others through the centuries-old cemetery, singing the
team anthem.
Maybe he sees the wild one walking down the middle of Bayswater
Road shouting I hate this fucking country. Let me die.
Maybe he feeds the swans near the palace where a beloved
princess used to live.
Maybe at the café he squints in unfamiliar sun, opens up his
newspaper to find the shadow of his head inside. The shadow
moves like a cloud across the stories of the day.
Maybe his head makes the only weather. The right levers might
control the wind, he thinks. Maybe the rain.
