By Scott Quinn
Stillness ebbs through the hallway
once the sun too drifts off.
Below, headlights fight the night
and the type of rain that drags you down.
It bodies with the wind,
batters windows and those who thought
themselves sturdy in a past life.
He slips in like the door a suggestion,
and soon he is running like clockwork,
taking two stairs seconds at a time.
Caught, breathless, spiral.
The clock turns 11:58
and he’s outside
trying the handle.
Every night.
Trying to go home.
Scott Quinn is a queer, working class poet and writer from Edinburgh, Scotland. His work can be found in previous issues of Poetry Scotland (Gallus supplement), Powders Press, Poetry as Promised and Coin-operated Press, among others. He has recently released his second self-published pamphlet, The things in the trees, and is currently working on his first novel.
Hot Pot Magazine 