Joey Simmons

Maryhill Road

Your eyes were caught taut

in the cradling shadow

of the street light’s viscous hue

like blue paint flaking

on a black door.

At the edge of your eyes,

debris carefully assembled.

Faded windows and wine bottles,

everything noted.

But too little, too late.

Filth flecked sandstone

flashed in the rain.

And the colour of that rain

so hard to recall.

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