Talc
Another sleepy Thursday rolls around.
The lavender ladies board the bus at
Broadway Hotel, headed out of town.
It is 3 pm. Their half shouted chat
Is of making it back to Bare village
Before schools let out all those boots and bags.
The bus cranes low, hydraulics yawn and creak.
For now youth waits impatiently behind
As the pastel procession take their seats.
Relatives are asked after; stories swapped
Regarding eye ops, local dignitaries,
Scheduled holidays and other what-nots
Some one else had died. Some one has new pills.
The journey down the prom takes in a whole
Expanse of sea and beach and rolling hills
As the slowly setting sun casts shadows,
Intermittently with gold shafts of light,
Through the pale, dusty glass of the windows.
Soon, one by one, the women all alight;
Gather up their things and step off the bus
Into the cool chill of a winter night.
Each leaves a gentle scent of themselves there,
Like talc, seeming specific to age.
Fine white particles still hang in the air.
By Gary Smillie
More about Gary
I was born in Liverpool but have lived in Wales and Germany. I currently live just outside Lancaster where I work as an English Teacher and I have been writing seriously for the past three years, completing my MA in Creative Writing in 2005 (from John Moore’s University). I have had my work included in locally published anthologies and recently on the American website Word Riot. I have given readings at the Spotlight Club in Lancaster in 2007, where my poetry has been warmly received. This is the first competition I have won. I also enjoy writing short stories but I am currently working on a first collection of poems. My favourite writers are Raymond Carver, Charles Bukowski, Albert Camus and Simon Armitage.
Previously published in: In the Red (magazine)
Back to the Machine Gun
Word Riot (online magazine)
Spotlight Lancaster (featured writer on website July 2007)