Bleeding Out
I whack my nose on the
desk to get out of Latin
and wander the deserted
cloisters with toilet paper
hanging from my face,
the schoolboy soldier
who shoots his foot to
escape the trenches, a
bloody trail behind me
marks my escape route.
I stop. The blood flows on
into the future, I topple
in and float downstream,
past the dark eyed lover
who will one day drift
away, calling to the boys
or girls to come in and eat,
waving at a young man
who looks just like me,
driving down a road I
will eventually live on,
drinking ‘the usual’
I’ve never tasted in the
bar where everyone
knows me. A low
rumble becomes
a roar as I reach
blood-falls. I am
sucked over the
edge and vanish
in the red mist.
The bell rings.
I duck into the
bathroom to
scrub away
the traces.
desk to get out of Latin
and wander the deserted
cloisters with toilet paper
hanging from my face,
the schoolboy soldier
who shoots his foot to
escape the trenches, a
bloody trail behind me
marks my escape route.
I stop. The blood flows on
into the future, I topple
in and float downstream,
past the dark eyed lover
who will one day drift
away, calling to the boys
or girls to come in and eat,
waving at a young man
who looks just like me,
driving down a road I
will eventually live on,
drinking ‘the usual’
I’ve never tasted in the
bar where everyone
knows me. A low
rumble becomes
a roar as I reach
blood-falls. I am
sucked over the
edge and vanish
in the red mist.
The bell rings.
I duck into the
bathroom to
scrub away
the traces.
|
Ewan MacKinnonEwan is the Artistic Director of a charity that puts artists, clowns, and musicians in children’s hospital wards. He lives in Denmark, which is much smaller and flatter than everyone thinks. He is mentored by Caroline Bird, which continues to be an adventure. His poems have appeared in Under the Radar, Dear Reader Obsessed with pipework and Prole. Accepted for an upcoming anthology ‘Under your Pillow’ and reached the long list of The National Poetry Competition 2021.
Instagram // @Ewan2323 |