Touching off goodbyes
Logic in burning houses.
The thinking behind petrol and match.
The spark and flame,
the idea to the hunt.
Street high stars,
make the shape of a hippo,
on the neighbouring valley wall.
The distance between us.
The difference in accent,
the slicing river can make.
I get the sun in the evening,
while your lay in’s are alway spoiled by
heavens grand star
and your mother thin curtains.
The smoke rising in tonights sky,
like never ending knots of a winter scarf,
the flickering flames with the screams
of November the fifth.
I remember you best in the interview room,
between the grey walls and blue floor,
besides the white table, on a plastic chair.
I said my name, but little else.
Christopher Hopkins, was born and raised in Neath, South Wales, surrounded by machines and mountains, until he moved to Oxford in his early twenties. He currently resides in Canterbury and works for the NHS. Christopher has had poems published in Rust & Moth, The Journal, Harbinger Asylum, Scarlet Leaf Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Tuck Magazine, Dissident Voice magazine, Versewrights, Poetry Superhighway and Duane’s PoeTree and the online literary journal 1947. Two of his early e-book pamphlets “Imagination Is My Gun” and “Exit From A Moving Car” are available on Amazon.