The Road to Chalvington at Dusk

Cast out from Eden he journeyed along the roads of dog-rose
in the cloaky overcoat of good tweed and lit a cigarette
cupped against the wind so that his fingers glowed
and took that first best draught of it and laughed softly
and the silver smoke made a hazy halo, like a crazy saint
he thought like a mothwinged angel and the matchbox
in his pocket had three red flaming torches upon it
and he knew then what these things might portend
o yes o yes we all come to the yew tree in the end.

 

 

Mark Valentineโ€™s recent work has appeared in PN Review, Agenda, Reliquiae, Marble, The Poetry Bus (Ireland), at the National Poetry Library and in the TLS gossip column in Esperanto. He also writes ghost stories and essays on obscure authors.