From the archives of The North...
Each month, we fish out a poem, article, review or feature from one of the back issues of The North, and publish it here for your delectation.
This month's offering is by Dean Parkin and is taken from issue 31.A MAN SETS OFF EARLY FOR WORK
with every good intention and parking his car, catches his thumb in
the door handle, so it feels like the nail has been prised up from its
bed. He walks away, briefcase in one hand, the other hand raised, thumb
held up in disbelief as he waits at the kerb’s edge. A white sports car
pulls up, the window slides down and a woman asks where he is thumbing
a lift to. Go away, he mumbles, words half lost in his throat, and she,
catching only the Away part, opens the door and the man, given the
choice, gets in. He looks at her, this woman, whom he would describe as
plain if asked, as she asks his name and he decides to stop this, to
get out, to go back. Can I explain? he says but at that moment the
woman changes gear and the word explain is drowned beneath the thrum of
the engine and she only hears Can I which she takes as Kenny. Assuming
a new name, being driven without an idea of destination, the man
wonders about his wife and conjures up her face, wants to tell her how
much he loves her. I love you he says out loud for the first time since
he can remember and the woman who is driving slows down, pulls into a
lay-by and says, We’ve only just met and this is crazy but I feel the
same way too. Stop! he thinks but is now too frightened to open his
mouth so says nothing, as she kisses him and kisses him again and tells
him about all the pain in life she has suffered, does he know about
pain? He nods as he looks at his thumb.
The Poetry Business receives financial assistance from Arts Council England.
