Winter run – David Plumeridge

Winter Run

Mesmeric footfall

takes me round to the cemetery

in at the gate

quick glance

left and right

no elephants

just the corpse of an old motorbike

presided over by Mr Crow

his feathers fluffed out so he looked


yes he did.

up the hill

past the gaping graves

avoid the void

and keep moving

through the mud and puddles

chasing the diminishing squawk

of the parakeet

as he flies off

in search of a non-existent

tropical canopy

while I, earthbound, huff

quietly to myself

and abolish all dreams of elsewhere.