Two Poems
David Morley, 11 August 2016
Dad was not dad. Dad was the mad train screaming daily into the station of his home,
white-hot brakes shrieking, exploding across the platforms of the rooms. So regular,
so on time, you could set your watch. Five hours. Four. Three. Two. The skies were my watch.
I saw the evening redden, and I hid. Hiding to nowhere. A phrase I still hate.
Dad’s train shivered and...