Good Friday. Driving Westward
Good Friday. Driving Westward
Original Text
Spires, Elizabeth. Worldling. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1995: 31-32. PS 3569 .P554 W67 1995 Robarts Library
1The rain. Rain that will not end.
2The daily errands. Daily bread.
3Not letting up. No pause
4as I steer blindly, circling
5the great city. City of tears and blood.
6I woke this morning to the ringing phone.
7To the last days of the twentieth century.
8Hello. Hello. But the line was dead.
9The phone in my hand heavy.
10My mind whirling. Numb. Taken
11against my will closer to oblivion.
12At the mall, a man in rags begging
13for a coin. My God, only a coin!
14I turned my back. Turned back.
15But he was gone. Daily, I turn my back.
16The suffering of others more and more
17like television. Do I drive East? West?
18Do I suffer? Shall anger be divine?
19Uncorrected, I steer. Swerve
20on a slick patch. Lose control.
21The rain letting up now. Clouds torn.
22The setting sun a brilliant bloody globe.
23As if a nailed hand had violently
24raked the sky. And then withdrawn.
25Past anger or mercy. Leaving me
26more distanced. Alone. Driving
27this endless road with all the others.
28Night and night's eternity coming on.
RPO poem Editors
Ian Lancashire, assisted by Ana Berdinskikh
RPO Edition
2009
Form