No Stops for Murder

Culture war, so the day pubs reopened

mostly the middle classes stayed away.

I saw one in the Co-op, still masked –

almost a surgical gown – he looked half-angry

when asked, was he going to 'independence day'.

Well, there I was, my book on Ted Bundy to read –

the anonymity of gas stops, stolen credit cards and

Holiday Inns. A man in a zebra tie said he believed

in reincarnation – after five pints – and thought this

life was pathetic – he'd go out in his dust to planets

and beyond. His dour friend said this life was enough,

a miracle, if you took time to sort fine from the rough –

who wants to come back as atoms in another place?

Planes were invisible above the clouds,

not spying, but not free to wander wide

over the earth's curve, out to the zone

where blue meets gold.

Paul Sutton was born in London and has published six poetry collections – most recently from NY publisher BlazeVox: Parables for the Pouring Rain (2019). His last UK collection was from the Knives, Forks and Spoons Press: The Diversification of Dave Turnip (March 2017). Falling Off (KFS, January 2015) was Poetry Book Society Recommended Autumn Reading, 2015.