Cold front
By Pam Brown
Published 1 January 2021
this shivering caravan
reeks of rum,
shadows smear an atlas
on a pillowcase
idly silhouetting a rabbit
on the masonite wall,
iced-over scraps
on the laminex splashback
grey nomad buys clairol -
the future looks bright
o only a cold front
is oblivion dark ?
come here for a moment,
sit and regard,
gape at the landscape
we'll never inhabit
en plein air
is so much a sinkhole,
nowhere so zen
as some other place
who changed 'the proposal'
into 'the dream' ?
I never said
'I'm living the plan'
I've already been sideswiped
and I was here last
my cup's white interior
tarnished by tannin,
readers of teacups
expended by tea bags
such a dreamy hiatus
o only a cold front
copying a trance
is too difficult to do,
sun on shut eye -
deep eggy red orange
but pocket some wisdom
when winter arrives
the grey sheen of sleet
will cleanse us like windex