Back Seat
On the back seat of the 144a girl laments her unfaithful lover.
I cannot sleep at night, she sings,
knowing that he lies with another.
Each verse a dagger and I twist
and turn around, curious to discover
the song and singer; her eyes mourn,
she is heart-cracked, wind-ripped.
I hesitate to interrupt, as if it’s TV
and I’m witnessing a murder.
She rings the bell and rises.
A trudge along the bus, she disembarks,
pausing to discard the return ticket.
Her song is finished. At the corner
she veers towards the train lines,
the multi-storey car park,
the canal; then I lose her.
Poetry by Ray Miller
Read 18 times
Written on 2026-02-05 at 10:20
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