The Last Mile I ran from tail flicking Friesians their eyes, pools of nowhere, and when everywhere wore off I returned, silenced the radio on the last mile – one hand off the wheel hugging haw-thorn-alder-ash ditches, gates looped with blue fatted twine, bath troughs, John Deeres rutted verges. Neighbours flashed the daughter’s red car, I accelerated after the hairpin bend to fuchsia draping white piers, remembered red tear drops popped waiting for tyres rumbling on asphalt. Pebble dash walls,...
