Parallax

On the morning train

the news isn’t good –

though everyone’s reading it

in their own preferred version:

the Mail’s

the Guardian’s

the FT’s

the Telegraph’s

the Sun’s

 

some with musical accompaniment

to soften the edges

 

‘…She's up all night to get fun…’

 

huge fires have devastated

the Amazon basin

 

‘…I'm up all night to get lucky…’

 

these fires are the suicide note

of mankind, said a spokesman

 

A suit with a laptop

blinks at the screen

yawns, sips coffee,

taps the keys

 

‘Tickets, please…’

 

I turn to the window as

we pass a meadow –

 

mist settled over like

a cloud layer, like

dry ice on a stage

 

some farm buildings

a line of hedge

a horse the colour of

warm chocolate

the first rind of sun

on smoke-covered hills

 

beyond it all, the day is

happening

the world’s unwinding

on its spool

the old cards are being

reshuffled and

dealt

 

The horse raises its head

against the light and

I catch its eye...

 

We enter a tunnel

 

And I'm looking at myself

in the glass

looking at myself