It is not here, the thing I want;
I must have passed it on the way.
I go back through carved-out trees,
and clean-cut hills, to there
where I thought I had begun
to find all changed.
No signposts on the long white road,
only a building
rising as it seems with but one side –
a roadside advert? – No. Police,
the blue lamp lit.I enter.
‘Is it about a bicycle?’ they ask.
‘No’ I say ‘a prompt’.
‘A fine pancake that’,
comes the reply.
Gill McEvoy