Poems by Liz Rowlands
Published in Sol 26:
PARK BENCHES
The benches in the park
Are only made for two
(Or, rather, one and one)
Lonely individuals,
Who sit one each end. Each
Suspicious that his neighbour
Might dare to
Edge so much as an inch nearer,
Glowers singularly at any passer-by,
Who threatens to invade the space between,
That no-man's-land of a park bench,
Which is only made for....
You and me.Published in Sol 29:
GOING WITH THE FLOW
In the shopping precinct,
Music permeates from unseen speakers,
Volume ebbing and flowing with the crowd.
Middle of the road melodies wash me
From store to store.
Pausing,
I catch a snatch of a song we once shared;
Driftwood thoughts of you swim into my mind.
I wait for the song to end, stupefied
By the threat of tears.
Caught
By the platinum glare of a mirror,
I’m prompted to hasten away to drown
In the boyant muzak of the mall.
Copyright © Liz Rowlands