The smell of ammonia in the entrance hall.
The racing bike.
The junk mail.
The timer switch whose single naked bulb
allowed us as far as the first floor.
The backs of your legs
as you went ahead of me up the stairs.
The landing where we paused for breath
and impatient key searching.
The locks which would never open quickly enough
to let us in.
The green of the paintwork we slid down
as if we had nowhere else to go.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top Hugo Williams Poems
Analysis and Comments on Timer
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Timer here.
Commenting has been disabled for now.