Snow Drums

Snow Drums

Three on the backseat as we drive home from rehearsal
There’s snow on the drums
The snare shudders like a cold ghost between my mittens

In the trunk, guitars slide like dead over dead
It’s stopped snowing
We think we see foxes

I breathe a canvas on the window
To write your name on the landscape

The sky is a grey flint from coast to coast
With birds frozen in

Magic Trees share the dashboard with a Playdoh Jesus
Grapelli and Reinhardt lock horns on the radio

I draw a black skull on my jeans, not thinking,
Through to the skin
The headlamps come on at five

I miss you bad



(Words – GA Johnson)