Girl At Arrivals Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

She had slipped out
or so it seemed
taken her coat down
from a hook behind the door
next to the tangle
of bridle and cord
She had taken her keys from
the cracked gondolier
fixed long ago
with a river of glue
She had driven through the gate
in the battered Nissan truck
where the wiper only worked
on the drivers' side
the yellow headlight beam
the horizontal rain
became ash from the volcano
on her papier mache island
banished to the attic
once the dust had settled
She had pushed down the pedals
with worn down pumps
mouse grey at the toes
bare legs, unworried
by gorse-shaking flurries.
Her one concession
the favourite dress,
no make-up
gaze and mouth unmoving
set on Arrivals
stainless steel horizon
all letterbox openings and
unexplained clatterings
in that tall and echoing hall
the cleaning machine parked
very neat,
not the crazy angle
of her pick-up truck
She stood and waited
arms at her sides
uncluttered, unlike
this story I made up