Poem: Leaving New York

Leaving New York

1

Here, on this pavement,

with compromised survivors,

wearing losses like badges,

listing off what they’ve seen,

(what they have seen),

I’m tempted to ask

the simplest of questions:

is it her who’s broken your heart?

Something’s not right.

At the mouth of a cinema,

language and neon

are letting us down:

they’re marking out silences,

as if in some unmapped forest

we’re surrounded by watchtowers

and boundary fences.

Not so much geography as time

intruding – or unseasonal chill

that draws steam from our mouths:

it’s pushing you apart.

2

Precipitate friend, we’re

already at the station,

safe among strangers

you can choose to register

as little as not.

So how should I care

for your wanting

to make things up?

At the end of the line

she'll not be waiting

in those shoes, that skirt.

You know that, don’t you,

in this cold late spring –

but it won’t stop you

queuing at the window,

buying your ticket,

falling back on hope

and remembered bus routes.

At the barrier, you persist

in giving nothing away –

you’ve decided

you’ve got enough to go on:

magazines, bottles

of branded water …

I’m just here reading titles,

inadvertently wondering

if it is as you say

and you’ve answered

the same questions yourself.

Tom Phillips 2014