Hymn no. A4

by Nii Kpakpo Addo

Travel west of the A4 past London

feel Whiteness burning eyes fixated

Layers of fields stretching pylon cables slack

And the next, alight

burns with vegetable oil

 

the tree trunks are cracking

invading outwards

running through linear tubes

swallowing my eyes

splitting liquids in hollow sockets

 

but driving, Grandma sits in solitude, unperturbed, with the neck brace she

doesn’t like

wearing for people’s stares

 

the past

flaking walls of flats-

and my eyes are no more white anger

 

the best thing about being on road

is the playing of these thoughts

on road

again that humming wind

mixing feelings

the driver – dee – deeing

 

reaching Bedford, we drive past a bus depot

where stands a body, energy bent out

gasping

 

tanned girls like ruffians, stutter past

laughing spontaneously

I smile into them

a futile desire to touch them- different lives

even if I screamed back the silence

past the glass and

car lock

then my family, mum her reflex reaction- would be to get cross

the cracks reaching their faces