Conversation

She was leaving
I, watching them
their voices hollowed out
tossed and billowed
swept
as a curtain by warm wind
puffily through the open window,
through, and buffeted back

Summer's shapeless conversation,
knotted and lively as ginger
A smile and the caught edge of a laugh
She, getting into the car, it must be warm inside
under that expansive sheet of Fen sky,
horizon, gulls, thinly traced
in blue pencil
hot greenery and highlighter pinks nearby

I go out
through the tacky linoed kitchen
the cool concrete floored, oil-pervaded garage
barefoot and careful onto gravel
It isn't the same
hearing the words, each unique
sharp
demanding answer
I'm bored
and want her to go.