I thought you and me would last forever, 
in cider-soaked evenings, graveyard rhymes,
but all our stories yawn in yesterdays, 
a rooted history we can no longer occupy. 

We are now. Me and you, at a picnic table, 
outside because you like it quieter than you did, 
me humouring you, as I always do, gazing 
at the lighted windows, my view distorted

through the bullseye glass, which pretends to age
yet might be dissembling, as we make believe.  
It is hard to walk away from this, to hug goodbye
in the shadowed carpark, assuming my own form. 

About the author

Alison Jones’ work has been widely published in journals such Poetry Ireland Review, Proletarian Poetry, The Interpreter’s House, The Green Parent Magazine and The Guardian. Her pamphlets, Heartwood (2018) and Omega (2020) were published by Indigo Dreams. She is working on a full collection.