Sartre in the park.
It is October and yet I left home without a jacket
This warmth is nauseating
The pale orange horizon brings memory of sickly sweet
Summers
Come and gone
The cloud angel-whipped across the
Whole
Sky
Will not disconnect
Will not relinquish its force
Weighing upon you effortlessly
Like the fat school bully
Pinning you to the grey playground concrete
It is October but I left home without a jacket
The scientist explains the colour
Is born of desert sand and distant fire
And a hurricane’s dying breath
Our star glows Apocalypse Red
Meaningless and bored
He hangs there observing
Holding on for his sister to take over the
Night shift.
Dan Bowan lives in South East London and writes prose/poetry and short stories. He has been writing for over 15 years been published in various independent magazines and art papers. See more at: www.channelzeroprose.blogspot.com
