Wilderspool Causeway

So loud, the sound disorientates.
Look up and see panel joins for oversized baggage
about the size of my problems
below islands of cloud
in the month’s freshness.

Something in the stacking
structures life below, unseen above.
An impulse to enter that sky one day
or at least find comfort in sharing space

feels adjunct to worldwide business
or mere witness to a holiday
opening or closing.

We’re not quite in Bedfont here
where you wonder about the runway
and tyre companies or locals breaking.

Sometimes at night, lifting into purple-black
for smudges of distant grey, you wonder
from that little window why

when you know the watering holes, stadia,
streets’ confluences, springs from Hatton Cross
and all the places people in their hundreds walk

the roads and gardens are always empty
no matter how calculated the look.