As to goodbye, not much to be said for it
‒ Ken Smith, ‘Fox Running’
She follows disappointing scents
from dusk to dusk,
liver and tan,
circling the city’s rim,
someone driving past their own
house, afraid to go in.
She catches her death
on the evening wind that scuffs
the top of trees, lifts up the bins
and gives slow chase: death
on the billboard model with her beautiful
cargo of limbs,
death in the man who rides
the 26 to Hackney Wick, out
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login
details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us,
including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine
, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews,
why not subscribe
to the website today?