Green surrounds the train
stuttering south on frayed rails.
Not the almost luminescent
ancient green of moss & ivy
that's messily dressed each ruin,
dyke & tree above the Solway
but a creeping verdigris
on fields, buildings, faces.
There's no light in it,
no sign of rest but rather
itchy green feet that won't be happy
until all the blues, reds, oranges
of the world are in retreat.
It feels as if I've missed a trick,
given in to landscape
& a world that's reeling, sick
& tired of being alive.
The train pulls in to Preston
where each pair of eyes I
accidentally catch appear filled
to the brim with fetid green,
overflowing with these stagnant
meres, these unliquid streams.
William Robert Hansen of Minnesota,
if indeed that's who & where you are,
I am truly sorry. But I'm worried, William,
that the meat in this message sandwich is spam,
that the graces, no matter how eager they seem,
you initially 'shewed' me in your
'god willingness' for me to 'rightfully clame'
the $3,000,000 you hold in my name,
means you've been hacked. Oh I'm sure
your Facebook account is true & pure
& probably you. But I fear those
shady maybes have bored deep into your soul,
that post after post of earnest lies
sit squarely behind once-American eyes,
that your heart's now dark, your words becoming worse
like a social media Colonel Kurtz.
I'm sorry, William, you've been blocked,
but while $3,000,000 & each others'
ether dreams lasted, it was nice to talk.
Stuart A. Paterson writes in English & his native Scots. He’s a past recipient of an EC Gregory Award from the Society of Authors. ‘Border Lines' was published by Indigo Dreams in 2015. He received a Robert Louis Stevenson Fellowship from the Scottish Book Trust in 2014 & was appointed the Scots Language Centre's Virtual Poet-in-Residence in 2015.
You can keep in touch with Stuart on Facebook.