The car wheels shuddered
and the body trembled in second gear
as we rounded the roundabout
near where you used to live.
Near the path we used to take;
fish and chips in hand,
bruised knuckles
and thin jackets.
We almost saw the brick wall
which ran alongside your house
and the playing field where no ball games
are allowed;
just games of the mind,
the heart, games of petal pulling
and questioning every time
you said ‘I love you.’
So the car continues to shudder,
until I slow into first gear,
allowing us both to breath in
the darkness and closeness
of old ghosts –
spectres of you and me.
Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019
Image by Annette Meyer from Pixabay
