He rode with a witch
To a town
Just north from here,
A gentle fog drifting
As she sat evil still.
They listened
To an album he hated
Twice,
Went the wrong way
Round roundabouts,
Briefly argued
About the Middle East
And sizzled with dysfunction.
They screamed and shouted,
Turned the dusk midnight blue
And pretended
They were true to their pasts
When they knew deep down
They were lying.
They were all about trying
Or at least just pretending
They were all about trying,
And that brief bit of crying
They let out,
As two angry dogs
Attacked the car boot
At the lights
Near the cemetery gates,
‘It’s too late to turn back’, she said,
As the winds picked up
And sang out her name
Like an old broken record
Skipping and tripping
It’s warnings.
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