Love’s Cold Wind

Then when it was done I stood and cried,

and the easterly – always the bloody easterly –

tore at my face and the tears were just salt streaks,

and I saw her red coat recede, saw her shapely legs snap forward –

almost a sashay – and the coat blow and lift and her hair riffle, and

I knew it was over, and before it began.

She walked in and strode out and salted air flung itself across the coastal street.

We are too weak for this; young men bend in the wind: lofty ideas and no spine; big ideas about love and loving, and nothing to offer but hollow talk and rushed love.

When she was gone – when the red of her coat was a dot – I turned and shouted,

and the rage was caught on the easterly, cold and off a sullen sea, and taken, like her, to a new place

2 thoughts on “Love’s Cold Wind”

  1. Fantastic, John, powerfully told, and that little ‘break-down’ of ‘young men’s love’ is a stab right at the heart of it. The woman, the rage, as the comment below sees, torn away in that wind. Love it.

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