Nadezhda Macey

In the first hour it poured rain, and men
Smoked beneath umbrellas on the platform

Now, in the fourth hour I sit between the blackberries 
Fresh bruises of darkness but they’ve kept their sour voices
I write a poem
                  just because I have the time

//
When we met you had a shaved head and a tan 
shivering beside my workmate
silver round your neck and looped in your ears
                  water beaded on you both

Cormac flushed pink in the cheeks licked by sun   on the nose 
water sucked the colour from his arms
    freckles standing dark to attention 
                  pale Irish/ Turkish/ redhead skin

I said maybe you better go in    a smile
A pause, waist down getting used to 
the temperature 

I told Katy about a girl and the text she’d sent me
                  we swam through the late January water 

Oriental Parade    run-ins
                              I said I was hopeful 

The American men on the pontoon asked what we were making for dinner
                              Pasta salad
I think they wanted 
An invite 

They watched us dive off    togs tied in bows 
at our backs, black nylon 
disappearing into the green storm water

I watched you 
                  from my towel    propped on my elbows 
Rune said        he came up on my Tinder,
Katy said        even his ex speaks real highly.

you and Cormac walked past on the warm concrete 
towels slung over shoulders hair curling salty
I felt your eyes   
       wanted to read your mind.

//
I make conversation with the German family in my carriage
                                        cars, politics, children
The train starts again, we go onwards and I go
through the months     
      to you