The Hidden City
They can't go back from where they came; bridges
are burnt and the deal is long done.
Instead they roam the
edge of the hidden, forbidden city.
Fast food wrappers flood their delapidated mini. A police car wails in the distance.
The beige, English
weather holds for now. The kid wipes hamburger
juice from his chin. "What's in the bag, dad?"
The man doesn't like where this question leads. One more week, then he can pass
the loot on.
"Who's turn is it
to wash up?" he jokes, to no avail. He's been reading
the kid's face for years. A tear wells
in those baby blues. "I miss her too, son," the sigh
escapes him. He remembers the fair maiden, headstrong
but witless. God rest her soul.
And hopefully the rest of her, at the bottom of a cold, black pool.
@ Lucy Sheppard / lucifer[at]chiark.greenend.org.uk / Home