On leaving my car

On leaving my car


Pulling close to the curb.

They drop for drives like dolphins at play.

The Gary tarmac stained as snow fell.

Coming close are two stories,

disheveled and apart like a broken hart


Trouser legs with the last inches missing,

whitish socks, no plats in the matted locks.

Like a charcoal drawing that’s been smudged with a hand,

the smile has gone and eyes deprived.


Leading the chase some meters head,

inconveniencing him, he thinks of 3.30 at chesptow instead.

No gentle whisper just bellows!

The cold old wind gives the school bell some soul.


One I can’t respect.

The other I try to connect.

What was said behind closed doors,

maybe hug packed lunch or love.

The snow still falls,

they pass bye,

hello, goodbye, good luck



Author: alanwhitfield80

Hello! I get about a bit so here about me first. I am a visual artist and poet who works within the context of fine art. My work is grounded in documentary, exploring the inner beauty of everyday life through various lens based media. Notions of nostalgia and social commentary are present, but from a definite northern working class perspective. Instinctively I exploring the townscapes of North Wales and the North West, often producing work that reflects the every day minutiae of life.

2 thoughts on “On leaving my car”

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