New poem: Dawn Taxi


At dawn, back in the red dress
which she’d bought at lunchtime yesterday
with a slight frisson of danger,
she felt just like the roses
that were dying on her steps at home.
Her head lolled in the dark rear
of the taxi that had picked her up
from the phone box near the school.
She straightened, took out her mirror,
and seeing what she expected,
she closed the mirror with a sigh.
The driver watched her furtively.
He wondered why she had no shoes


Anonymous said…
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Bryn said…
I would have accepted it for OUTLAW.
Bruce Hodder said…
Cheers Bryn! That means a lot coming from such a great editor.