They left
we’ve come to a place
in a big coloured bus
I left my shoes, clogs, iron-coloured
rusty
among many others
they’ve all gone with theirs
in a hurry
I found mine
they were not mine
not clogs, but grey, they were shoes
womanly
I started looking for them
seeing the shadow of the bus everywhere
in this unfamiliar town
someone gave me a bag of fish
so heavy
I tripped myself on a steep bank
the sack hit the ground flat
like a flesh body
fish spilled out
some brained, some flattened, some badly
opened
all bright silver
scales as tiny as teeth
the guy was about to scoop them in
when I stopped him with a raised hand
I saw
in my mind’s eye
the bus speeding away
on a mountain beyond this one
the town
left behind
has one street that tilts
downwards
A weighty slithery poem - like it a lot
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