In the village strut the titans: Mykines, Irv.
Managers with lost lists, wavering voices, fading scrawl.
The early call of a mother and lost girl.
Extracting myself from the back of a crowded car
I survey the teams
searching searching for one to belong.
The flirt arrives
speaking of last week’s nuclear activism
this week’s sane washed whales.
I inquire - you on the team or off?
She flits off down the road.
The authorities have gone
it is 6
and I send the teams home.
I remain, alone with new flip phone and computer
late and torn - for mother and lost girl.
I set off on foot
down the back road to car not found.
Just a patch of grass with berries
and a terraced road into country I have never seen.
I turn back toward the village unwilling
still.