A River Runs Through It
At the backpackers, alongside
The river, they are playing
American football on the
Large screen inside, the sound
Of the game on the speakers
Outside. It is night.
The main train line is 200 yards
Down river on the right.
The bridge has lights underneath,
That change intermittently,
Purple turns to blue,
Blue to red. I drank some tea here
This morning, while police divers
Were trawling. Somebody
Must be dead. Everyone
Who disappears in this city
Ends in this river. It’s now
A standing joke. In fact
A month ago, some 19
Year old reveller vanished.
A friend of mine said
He’d be found in the river soon,
Which was true. They did fish
Him out about a week later.
His family taped his picture
With some flowers, onto
The barrier, which is where
They hold the riverside market.
I had breakfast there the Sunday after.
Michael Oliver-Semenov is a Cardiff born poet and writer. After serving as the first poet in residence for Blown, the British magazine for cultural intelligence, Michael emigrated to Krasnoyarsk, Siberia. Michael is a freelance English teacher, editor and contributor to the Siberian Times newspaper.