SOFT HISTORIES

by the 
shop-and-drive
the
orange brick
new build
stands box-fresh 
without history

time was
site was
a potholed coach park 
of
cement slabs and half fences / an after pub piss stop -
in 
the
medicine light of streetlamps 
we would stand / swaying / emptying 
leaning and small town delirious
behind the green portacabin office
patterned with rust 
like 
its 
camo

earlier in falling light
couples would have stood awkward in foursomes
clothes too pressed
gathered self consciously 
on this nowhere corner
to
go
to
london shows on garish coach upholstery
grateful
of
the
height and thin bus walls between them
and
wild wild
imagined
city
mayhem

now
its hutch flats / limited parking
hatchbacks clusterfuck on new blacktop
between
snow bright white lines
all of it somehow keen
to
age
and
darken 
with weather and time
and
to
hide / worn / used
in
the
folds unnoticed

NIGHT BONES

when the long day climbs down its own bones
and
the
night calls time on the day
with
bells only birds hear
and
front rooms glow yellow and blue and quiet
then
artificial suns 
on 
concrete sticks
create themselves in crazy flickers
and
shine sick orange
on
the
mist slick black top of cul-de-sacs and crescents 
and
the no-mans-land of roundabout junctions
where
thin bold foxes prowl
by
truckers thrown lunch 
and
hatchbacks cool their engines 
clicking apologies at the stars
and
slow stepping alley cats
sit
silent
between plastic wheelie bins
their 
lids lifted high with xmas kipple

thats

when
theres a pause 
in
the worlds pumping breaths 
and 
the
lucky
can
rest 
hand in hand
in the warmth 
of 
nights 
dull 
pockets

from jamiehallphotography.photoshelter.com