"The slow return to dust" by Gavin Turner

The neighbour’s cat

licks its lips, and mimics a human hello

In our bottom of the bag road

We are people who see, but are not seen

Aerials create shadows, wingless birds,

too high to focus on, now

they are full stops,

scavenging for sentence ends

Last summer’s hanging baskets,

Shed crisps of leafy dandruff

in winter‘s breath, family pictures fade,

And curl up on dusty sills

Soon we will join them, to sit as pictures on sills

And fade like sentence ends,

Scavenging memories in the suns of spring

spirits that lick forgotten lips, can only mimic a human hello

Gavin Turner has been writing poetry and fiction in secret for several years. He lives and works in North West England with his family.