In the Cities
Near the end of a long day,
though she hasn’t left the house,
done anything, the whole day
needing distraction and now at its end,
its near end,
after flicking between who knows
how many films, before,
finally – night now
here on its own –
settling for Alice
in the Cities, while thinking still
about other things, she hears
the woman,
Alice’s mother,
say somehow both quiet and loud
to the man: I can’t
sleep with you, but I’d like
to share the bed with you
(looking away, she now sees, from him):
and instantly – there – she is
distracted no longer;
has found it, here,
though it took
all morning, afternoon,
night:
the day, at last,
over – and still
one hour and twenty minutes left
The Site
No: night
is ending:
she looks out
the window after
checking, again,
it’s shut,
and sees it over
the roofs
she sometimes half-
asleep climbs:
the final blue
of night on
film posters:
as above
a desert, faintly
layered with light,
but the stars
done, finished.
It’s a kind
of embarrassment –
greater now
the birds
are singing.
You: the only one
still on the site.
A volunteer,
or almost.
—
Kristian Doyle‘s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Oxford Poetry, Rattle, Poet Lore, and elsewhere. He lives in Liverpool.