On leaving

by Ian Burnette

Not loving

            or loveless.


Like boarding the windows of a house


            before rain.


Like a mother


            in a World War movie


waving goodbye to her children


            as they slide away into the distance


on an air raid train.


Like an air raid. But when the planes


            open up to the sky,


to their surprise,


            nothing falls from inside them.

University & College Poetry Prizes Page