First, 1975

The first drive east. Out past dauntless new
suburbs scattered like a teenager’s room.
Asleep in the future. All that aspiration watching
from the cosy dissemble of the city’s embrace,
but curled like a cat, the tail flicking impatiently.
My first car. The HD station wagon
early morning, no other traffic –
the world in hibernation except for us.
Pages turned quietly in a slow read, no frantic jittery
cartoon of flipping characters, the year after colour.
Through towns only read about, where lakes enter sea
and you were talking of how your sisters
all wanted to be the first to cry ‘beach’.
We promised never to have straphanger days,
travelling in a capsule of repleting dawns.

Unstill Mosaics the Book of Love, Loss, and Longing 2019