This poem is taken from Stand 211, 14(3) September - November 2016.
Not quite blind from birth, he could remember a kaleidoscope of colours, fire
engine red, canary yellow, emerald green. Asked what he most wanted to see, he
said; Black, thick and dense, lamp black, that would do. It could swallow candy pink
snowflakes, Van Gogh rainbows. A clock ticks on a shelf, the breeze lifts a blind
just high enough to let the street light in and the alternating flashes from a neon
hotel sign – ‘Vacancies Tonight’. But what I’d really like is a brush, a foot wide,
with it I’d erase the constant zigzagging of lightening that streaks days and nights
then they’ll be no more shimmying around like a whore on a night out. I’d
unremember it all except for a palette of undertones; all cities have that and I’ll
need to know what city I’m in. The temperature drops, the birds stop singing.