Stephen Roe Poems

Against the whirring noise of the tracks spinning undone
You can hear the fly humming
Slightly away from your eardrum
And yet you know in that instance that
...

If I were a black ghost
Running over the River Aire,
I'd never look down
Or bother to haunt down there.
...

The leaf blower working against the wind.
The broken church Clock.
The shop.
The car.
...

The litter floats around the Thorpe arch pitches unattended.
The line of paint from his flat to the training ground is fading.
The Argentinian tea and biscuits left outside his door remain.
The married women who confessed her love for him, has since cried again.
...

There's a woman somewhere who cares about me.
Whether on the bus, in a car, or sitting on a chair somewhere,
She's smiles about me, she knows me.
...