copse

 

they have their polished metal sides

glide mirror smooth a

steel and gray enclosure taking one

on a fist rail toward the twenty first century

not laden down by the bleak

tenements of stick and bone scavenging by the tracks

hurt faces hanging out

we want to sweep all this away

these past uglinesses;

nailed and rotted wood

things which should’ve been painted

no if you put your moderne travel accessories,

sheening back blue etched glass

a beautiful woman is on the smoking car

lamped in a new cone of light

ask her name she just

kisses you thinly on an ear the

fissionable mingling on your after-shave, her perfume