If all the trees on the Mirabat were streetlamps
and the hum of the river was a motorway
and the snow peaks on the horizon
turned to tower blocks,
and the field where the horses graze
was an aircraft factory
and the swallows were doodlebugs
detonating the touchpaper sky,
what would become of you and me?
Will you hold my hand in the future’s bunker?
Shall we make plans for when we get out of here?
While coltsfoot grows through cracks in the concrete,
can we give it another try?
Sue Kindon’s poems have appeared in The Interpreter’s House, The North, Antiphon, Popshot, and The Rialto. She was awarded The Maryport Poetry Prize 2012. and Poets and Players Open Prize, Manchester 2013. She lives in The French Pyrenees.