On Sighting a Truck Named after a Planet

The van at the end of my road has a name: Saturn Removals.
I like the sound of that. No fancy intros.
The driver steps out, straight down to business.

He’s bigger than I expect and the ice-rings that circle him
grate like the brakes of an old freight train.
I thought ice would sing, angelic. Kubrick on a good day.
But the rings screech like rats, tell me that leaving
is never easy.

I ask him: Whatever happened to Saturnalia?
King for a day? Let the good times roll?

Mr Saturn revolves slowly. I notice the grey and yellow
of him. He moves like his feet hurt. He is
the last wolf in Britain, hunted to isolation,
hoping to get back to the uplands, one final job
before sundown. And I’m the arsey customer
who won’t understand that this is how
the removals business works: you cannot take it with you.



Danica Ognjenovic was born in London and has just spent a year in lockdown in North Yorkshire. Had some success with National Poetry Competition (2013); Rialto first pamphlet competition (2017); also published in The Moth, Abridged, Honest Ulsterman and Acumen 100.