Promising music, then falling silent

by Afric McGlinchey

Splintery armfuls
of the most brazen, persistent kind
send one scurrying.

massive hands moving clockwise
across four corners.
A wheel is plundered.

A horse snorts yes.
One groans.
This is memory.

Or dream.
The jets of steam,
pausing.

Scavengers carting away
redundant people.
Here and gone.

There and now.
Waves bury themselves at our feet,
swallowing hard.

The chill hurries into grey.
There’s nothing casual
about turning away.