I drive your lemon yellow Smart ForTwo
six hundred miles home from your flat—
stuffed to the roof, my suitcase crammed on top,
your miniature car swells to welcome
a pile of your leavings, rescued
from Junk-It Ltd. house clearance:
Teach Yourself Serbo-Croat
1.5l Breville slow cooker
CDs: Bach to Zemlinsky—we played some at your funeral
one bottle of Laphroaig malt whisky
two Art Nouveau vases—might be candlesticks
our father’s pewter retirement mug
diary of a devastating holiday with your lover
unpublished epic poem—illustrated
IKEA floral duvet cover
boxes of family papers: wills, deeds, letters.
I struggle with Serbo-Croat
make curry in your slow cooker
play the Bach on my hi-fi
eke out sips of Laphroaig
use the vases as candlesticks
place the mug on a high shelf
revise my view of your lover
show no-one your poem
store your duvet cover under my towels
cry over letters.
I sell my Shadow Black Fiesta.
For a year, your Smart ForTwo cradles me,
dodging HGVs and buses, scurrying
round town with groceries,
recycling, and deliveries to friends,
until I happen to discover
its official colour
is not Lemon Yellow
but Stream Green.
It’s time to buy
a Flame Red
Jinny Fisher lives in Glastonbury. Her poems have appeared in numerous magazines, and been placed in international competitions. In 2019, V. Press published her pamphlet The Escapologist. Jinny’s Poetry Pram takes poetry to festivals, for random one-to-one readings.