Visiting Time - Budapest

Uncomfortable, I park the car, forcing a smile.

Distract the conversation from the reason we’re here.

Dead stalks of roses in storm fallen jars.

A wealth of new neighbours in misshapen grass.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here.

Why did we come here?

I can’t distance the image of what’s physically here,

And all that we are walking on and what’s underneath.

Read only the closest, read only the clear.

A life disregarded, three steps too far.

I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here.

Why did we come here?

So I visit you. Am I talking to you?

Do you hear me? Do you see me?

Do you feel me? Can you hear me?

I don’t know.