It’s my last day. I’ll never see the tall telephone cables, from the corner of my eye,
where they join up, black, look like crows; waiting.
Or the
Pink, blue and yellow futon’s, hanging over balconies,
blowing in the wind, from the holler of petrol station attendants,
Who make rainbows on windscreens with their elbows, egging cars, in and out.
I’ll never smell yaki niku, as it smoulders on charcoal:
Amy, splatting me with the fat.
Or
Taste the gumminess of mochi, melting all corners of my mouth:
It’s red centre, like lava.
I’ll never hear the children’s jostle of bags,
As they wander home, Pokémon, Hello kitty key rings,
swinging from their straps.
Or the
Irasshaimase, sumimasens, as I walk into conveni’s, a big no thank you to a placcy bag.
I’ll never see, the black inviting eyes, of the female sushi chef, as she shapes the tuna
gives ME extra wasabi :).
As I land, I see the familiar red and orange lights lining the M60.
My Nan’s white wiry hair and soft tissue wrinkles, welcome me
Mum’s cheeks, a flurry of red, reaching for a hug
Dad’s manky moan’s: Where’ve you bin, the pots need washin.
And you sister
A sense of relief, rimming your smile.