Postcard
he squealed around bends
drinking until he sideswiped
the Castle Douglas sign
his golf umbrella was a shield
between gift shops and departure
but it hooked at strange faces
and hurt his arthritic hand
he almost bought a travel-rug
and oatcakes in a tartan tin
before he squared his shoulders
and crossed the road to loiter
beside Presbyterian porches
and remorseless flowerbeds
in a town without enemies
his grey eyes inched upwards
to scrubbed gutters and roofs –
no signal vibrating from aerials
no small talk from satellite dishes
with a sheepskin coat on his lap
he drank a half bottle of Grouse
while the seagulls lost interest
and his headache grew worse
when his hands began to shake
a new idea made him rise
he bought a glossy postcard
of the town’s empty gardens
and filled it with his surname
then he posted himself home
so his ache would live on
Robin Lindsay Wilson has three collections of poetry published by Cinnamon Press. His latest book is a collection of short monologues and microfiction called – Rehearsals for the Real World. His work has been published in many UK journals and poetry magazines.