Calendar by AJ Doherty
In a cheap flat over a Pakistani owned coffee shop near Euston, we made love
over rockabilly tapes and Scrumpy Jack cider. The Clydesdale calendar hung
over the twin bed like the ship's helm to lead the way toward our horizon.
Counting down, never up, with your blue X's, these cramped quarters felt right
this time, a dreamworld penetrates a world less isolated. Broken
birds contemplate their early death while we did not know how long that calendar could last.
